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A NO VEL 


LY 

GUSTAV TEETTAG, 

ATJTHOB OF “DEBIT AND OKEDIT.” 


TRANSLATED BY MRS. MALCOLM 


COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 




NEW YORK: 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1, 3, AND 5 BOND STR EE T . 

1891. 


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OOISTTENTS 


BOOK 1. 


CHAPTER 1 . PAGE 

THE LOST MANUSCRIPT 6 

CHAPTER II. 

TUB nOSTILB NEIGHBOURS 10 

CHAPTER III. 

THE JOURNEY SKYWARD 15 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE OLD HOUSE 21 

CHAPTER V. 

AMONG THE HERDSy AND SHEATES 27 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE LEARNED LADY FROM THE COUNTRY 34 

CHAPTER VII. 

NEW HOSTILITIES 39 

CHAPTER VIII. 

ONCE MORE TACITUS 45 


CHAPTER IX. PAGE 

ILSE 50 

CHAPTER X. 

THE WOOING 56 

CHAPTER XI. 

SPEIHAHN 59 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE DEPARTURE FROM THE COUNTRY 
HOUSE 65 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FIRST GREETINGS OF THE TOWN ... 67 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A DAY OF VISITS 72 

CHAPTER XV. 

AMONG THE LEARNED 76 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE professors’ BALL 82 


BOOK 11. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE DECEPTION OF HERE HUMMEL 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

LITTLE CONTENTIONS 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE ILLNESS 

CHAPTER XX. 

AN INQUIRY FROM THE PALACE ... 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE BUTTER MACHINE 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THREE CONCLAVES 


PAGE 

90 

97 

102 

107 

114 

121 


CHAPTER XXIII. PAGE 

VIELLIEBCHEN 127 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

AMONG THE STUDENTS 136 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A GENERAL DISffURBANCE 143 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE DRAMA 149 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE PRINCE 154 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

IN THE PAVILION 160 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

TWO NEW GUESTS 165 


BOOK III. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

TEASING TRICKS 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

hummel’s TRIUMPH 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

^ chapter from TACITUS 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

hummel’s cesarian TRAITS 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

OLD ACQUAINTANCES 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE PRI^ cess’s TOWER 


PAGE 

176 

184 

189 

195 

201 

209 


CHAPTER XXXVI. page 

ilse’s flight 215 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE LORD HIGH STEWARD 222 

CHAPTER XXXVIIL 

THE MAGISTER’S EXIT 231 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

BEFORE THE CRISIS 238 

CHAPTER XL. 

ON THE ROAD TO THE ROCK . . .- 243 

CHAPTER XLI. 

IN THE CAVE 250 

CHAPTER XLII. 

TOBIAS BACHHUBER 253 




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THE LOST MANUSCRIPT 


CHAPTER I. 

It is the close of evening in the ■wood adjoin- 
ing our city ; the leaves rustle gently in the 
soft summer air ; and the chirping of the field 
cricket is heard in the distance among the trees. 

A faint light glances through the tops of the 
trees on the pathway in the wood, and on the 
indistinct branches of the underwood. The 
moon sprinkles the path with glimmering spots, 
and flashes strange lights among the entangled 
leaves and branches ; here its blue light glides 
down the stems of the trees like liquid flame ; 
there it illumines the fanlike fern from deep 
darkness into a golden gi’een ; and a dry botigli 
projects over the path like a huge white antler. 
Hut below and around reigns black and palpable 
darkness. Thou round moon in the heaven, 
thy attempts to spread light through the wood 
are irregular, pallid, and capricious. I pray 
thee, limit thy light to the causeway that leads 
to the city ; do not throw thy feeble rays too 
obliquely over the path, for to the left hand it 
Eiopes into morass and water. 

PNe, thou deceitful one ! there is the morass, 
and the shoe remains sticking in it. Rut it is 
just what thou desirest ; to deceive and lie is the 
work thou delightest in, thou phantasm among 
the stars. All wonder that the ancients should 
have worshipped thee as a goddess. There was 
a time when the Greek maidens called thee 
Sememe, and wreathed thy cup with scarlet 
pop])ies, in order by thy magic to entice faith- 
less lovers to their threshold. This thy power 
has passed away. We have science and photo- 
graphy, and thou hast sunk into a poor old juggler, 
that flickers far from men among the woods. 
Into a jixggler ! One shows thee only too much 
honour w'hen one treats thee as a diving being. 
^V^lat art thou, then, really ? a ball of burnt- 
out slack, full of blisters, without atmosphere, 
colour, or water. Pooh ! a ball ? Our men of 
science know that thou ai't not so much as 
round ; thou best even in that. We of the 
earth liave elongated thee in our direction ; and 
truly thou art in a measure pointed thy form 
is pitiful and irregular. Thou art nothing but 
a kind of great turnip, which revolves round us 
in eternal slavery. 

The wood opens out ; betwixt the city and the 
wanderer there still lies a wide grassy jxlain, 
with its fishponds. AVe greet thee, thou green 
valley. WTAl-kept gravel paths cross the 
meadows by the wood ; here and there a gay 
bush is seen, and a garden bench. On the bench 
in the daytime a well-to-do citizen may be seen 
resting, his hands supported on his Spanish cane. 
He looks proudly on the towers of his good city. 
Is the meadow also changed ? A floating ex- 
pa'ise of wat( r spreads before the wanderer ; it 
heaves and dances round his feet in endless ma'-ses 
of mist as far as the eye can reach. Wliat 


hosts of spirits lave here their gi’ey garments ! 
They flutter from the trees, they course through 
the air, dimly dissolving, then again inter- 
mingling. And now the dusky figures raise 
themselves higher ; they soar over the head of 
the wanderer ; the dark masses of trees dis- 
appear, and every outline is lost in a chaos of 
pale light and ‘floating shapelessness. The firm 
ground still continues under the feet of the 
pedestrian, but he wanders apart from all the 
realities of earth amidst glimmering, form- 
less shadows. Now they collect, and then 
vanish into floating li rht. Slowly do the phan- 
toms of the air sweep over the plain which 
surroxinds the wanderer. Here a bent figiai*e 
presents itself, resembling a kneeling woman 
bowed down by grief ; there a troop in long 
waving robes, like Roman senators, at their head 
an emperor with a crown of glory; the crown 
and the head dissolve, and bodiless and spectre- 
like the great shadows pass on. The damp 
meadow steams. AVTio has so changed all this ? 
Why it is again the old witch up there, the 
Juggling moon has been at her work. Away 
with you into the background, deceitful forms ! 

The valley is passed ; lights in the upper win- 
dows gleam before the eyes of the wanderer from 
the first houses of the city. Two grand houses, 
wherein dwell two householders, taxpayers, 
quiet sleepers ; they cover themselves at night 
with warm coverlids ; not with thy vapoury 
spectres, oh moon ! which trickle like rolling 
drops from hair and beard : they have their 
fancies and their honesty, and esteem thy worth, 
oh moon ! exactly in proportion to the sum that 
thou savest in gaslight to the city coflers. 

A lamp, placed close to the window, shines 
from one of the upper rooms in the house on the 
left hand. In vain dost thou, pale shadowy light, 
endeavour to throw there thy treacherous rays, 
for he who dwells therein shall not be injured by 
thy tricks ; he is a child of the sun, and the hero 
of this story. It is the Professor Felix Werner, 
a learned philologist, still a young man, but in 
well-desei’ved repute. He sits at his study table, 
and examines old faded manuscrijxts — a striking- 
looking man of middle height, with dark curly 
hair falling on a strongly -framed face ; there is 
nothing diminutive about him. Clear, honest 
eyes shine from under the dark eyebrows ; the 
nose is slightly arched ; the muscles of the 
mouth are strongly developed, as is natural to one 
who is the popular teacher of youthful students. 
Just now a soft smile spreads over it, and his 
cheeks redden either from his work or from secret 
excitement. Vanish, moon, behind a cloud ; the 
society of my Professor is more agreeable to me. 

The Professor sprang up from his table and 
paced eagerly up and down his room. He then 
approached a window which looked out on the 
neighbouring house, placed two large books on 
the window sill, laid a small one upon them, and 


6 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


thus produced a figure which rcsenihled a Greek 
TT, and, from the ligiit shining behind, became 
visible to the eye in the house opposite. After he 
had arranged this telegraphic signal, he hastened 
back to the table and bent again over his book. 

The servant entered gently to remove the sup- 
per, which was placed on a side table. I inding 
the food untouched, he looked with displeasure 
on the Professor, and remained standing a long 
time by the table. At last, placing himself in 
military position, ho said, “ Herr Professor has 
forgotten his supper.” 

“ Away with you, Gabriel,” cried his master. 
Gabriel showed no disposition to move. “ Herr 
Professor should at least eat a bit of cold meat. 
Nothing can come of nothing,” be added, kindly. 

“ It is contrary to rule that you should come 
in and disturb me.” 

Gabriel took the plate and can’ied it to his 
master. “ Pray, Herr Professor, take at least a 
couple of slices.” 

“ Give it me, then,” said he, and began to eat. 
Gabriel made use of the time during which 
his master unavoidably paused in his intellectual 
occupation, to make a respectful admonition. 

“ My late Captain thought much of a good sup- 
per.” 

“ But now you have changed into the civil 
service,” answered the Professor, laughing. 

“ It is not right,” continued Gabriel, per- 
tinaciously, “ that I only should eat the roast 
that I bring for you.” 

“ I hope you are now contented,” answered 
the Professor, pushing the plate back to him. 

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “ You have 
at least done your best. The Herr Doctor was 
not at home.” 

“So I see. Take care that the house-door 
remains open.” 

Gabriel turned and went away with the plate. 
The scholar was again alone; the golden 
light of the lamp fell on his countenance and on 
the books which lay around him; the white 
leaves rustled quicker under his hand ; and his 
features worked with strong excitement. 

There was a knock at the door ; the expected 
visitor entered. 

“ Good evening, Fritz,” said the Professor, to 
his visitor ; “ sit in my place and look here.” 

The guest, a man of slender form, with 
delicate features, and wearing spectacles, seated 
himself obediently, and laid hold of a little book 
which was in the centre of a heap of open ones, 
of every age and form. With the eye of a con- 
noisseur he examined first the cover-discoloured 
parchment, with old notes of music, and, 
underneath, church hymns. He cast a searching 
glance on the inside of the binding, and in- 
spected the strips of parchment by which the 
ill-preserved back of the book uais joined to 
the cover. He then examined the first page of 
the contents, on which, in gilded characters, was 
written, “ The Life of the Holy Hildegard.” 
“ The handwriting is that of a writer of the 
fifteenth century,” he exclaimed, and looked 
inquiringly at his friend. 

•• It is not on that account that I show you 
the old book. Look further. The life is followed 
by prayers, a number of receipts and household 
regulations, in various hands, even later than 
the time of Luther. I had bought this journal 


for you, thinking you might perhaps find some- 
what for your legends or popular supei-stitions. 
But on looking through it, I met with the 
following passage on one of the last pages, and 
I must now withhold the book from you. It 
appears that the book has been used in a monas- 
tery by many generations to note down obser- 
vations, for on this page there is a catalogue of 
all the church treasures of the Monastery Rossau. 
It was a needy monastery : the catalogue is not 
large or complete. It w'as drawn up about the 
year 1500 by an ignorant monk, as far as one 
can judge by his writing. See, here are entered 
church utensils and a few ecclesiastical dresses ; 
and further on some theological manuscripts 
of the monastery, of no importance to us, but 
amongst them the following title: * Das alt 
ungehiir puoch von ussfahrt des swigers.’ 

The Doctor examined the words with curiosity. 

“ That sounds like the title of a tale of chivalry. 
And what do the words themselves mean ? Is 
the Ausfahrende* a Schwiegei’f or a Schwei- 
genderl ”+ 

“ Let us try to solve the riddle,” continued 
the Professor, with kindling eyes, pointing with 
his finger to the same page. “ A later hand 
has added in Latin, ‘ This book is Latin, almost 
illegible ; it begins with the words lacrimas et 
signa, and ends with the words — here concludes 
the history — actorum — thirtieth book.* Now 
guess.*’ 

The Doctor looked at the excited countenance 
of his friend. “ Do not keep me in suspense. 
The first words sound very promising, but they 
are not a title; some pages in the beginning 
may be deficient.” 

“ Just so,” answered the Professor, with satis- 
faction. “ We may assume that one or two 
pages are missing. In the fifth chapter of the 
Annals of Tacitus there are the words lacrimas 
et signa/^ 

The Doctor sprang up, and a flush of joy over- 
spread his face. 

“ Sit down,” continued the Professor, forcing 
his friend back into the chair. “ The old title 
of the Annals of Tacitus, when translated, stands 
thus ;’ ‘ Tacitus vom Ausgange des gottlicJien 
Augustus ;* in better German, ‘ vom Umscheiden 
des Augustus ab ’ (‘ from the decease,* &c.). Well, 
an ignorant monk deciphered perhaps the first 
Latin words of the title, ‘Taciti ab excessu’ and 
endeavoured to translate it into German; he 
was pleased to know that tacitus meant 
scJiioeigsam (silent), but had never heard of the 
Roman historian, and rendered it in these 
words, * Vom Ausgange des Schweigenden* ” 

“ Excellent,” exclaimed the Doctor. “And 
the monk, delighted with his successful trans- 
lation, wrote the title on the manuscript ? 
Glorious ! the manuscript was a Tacitus.” 

“ Hear further,” proceeded the Professor. 
“ In the third and fourth century, according to 
our^ computation, both the great works of 
Tacitus, the ‘ Annals * and ‘ History,* were 
united in a collection under the title, ‘Thirty 
Books of History.* For this we have other 
ancient testimony. Look here !” 

* “ Ausfahreiider ” (traveller), answers to “ ussfalirt,'* 
in thrt old title. 

t “ Sc.liwieuer” (son-in-law), the same as “ swigeiB." 

t “ Schweigender” (silent man). 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


7 


The Professor opened at well-known passages, 1 
and placed them before his friend. “ And, 
again, at the eiul of the manuscript record there 
were these words : ‘ Here ends the Thirtieth 
Book of the History.^ There remains, there- 
fore, no doubt that this manuscript was a 
Tacitus. And looking at the thing as a whole, 
the following appears to have been the case : 
At the time of the Reformation there was a 
manuscript of Tacitus in the Monastery of 
Rossau, the beginning of which was deficient. 
It was old and injured by time, and almost 
illegible to the eyes of the monks.” 

“ There must have been something peculiar 
attaching to the book,” interrupted the Doctor, 

“ for the monk designates it by the expression, 

‘ Ungeheuer * (portentous) — which answers to 
our word ‘ unheimlich ’ (extraordinary).” 

“It is true,” agreed the Professor. “One 
may assume that some monastic tradition which 
has attached to the book, or an old prohibition 
to read it, or, more probably, the unusual nature 
of the cover, or its form, has given rise to this 
designation. The manuscript contains both the 
historical works of Tacitus, which were united 
in a continuous series of volumes. And we,” 
he continued, throwing, in his excitement, the 
book which he held in his hand on the table, 
“ we no longer possess this manuscript, and 
neither of the two historical works of the great 
Roman has been pi’eserved to us perfect ; for if 
we reckon all the gaps, more than half is 
wanting.” 

The friend psiced the room hurriedly. “ This 
is one of the discoveries that quicken the blood 
in one’a veins. So near, and yet lost ! It makes 
one hot to think how nearly such a precious 
treasure of antiquity was px*eserved to us. It 
hivs escaped fire, devastation, and national ruin ; 
it was still in existence when the dawn of a new 
civilisation burst upon us, happily concealed and 
unheeded, in a German monastery, not many 
miles from the gi’eat high road along which the 
humanitarians wandered, with visions of Roman 
glory in their minds, seeking after every relic of 
the Roman time. It seems incomprehensible 
that not one of the scholars who thus spread 
themselves over the whole land should have 
obtained information concerning the book, and 
pointed out to the brothers the value of such 
a memorial. But, instead of this, it is possible 
that some contemporary of Erasmus and Me- 
lanchthon, a poor hungry monk, has sold the 
manuscript to a bookbinder, and strips of it may 
still adhere to some old book -cover. Thus far 
this discovery is impoi’tant. It is a painful plea- 
sure that this little book has procured for you.” 

The Professor clasped the hand of his friend, 
and each looked into the honest countenance of 
the other. “ Let us assume,” concluded the 
Doctor, sorrowfully, “that the old hereditary 
enemy of preserved treasures, fire, has consumed 
the manuscript — is it not childish that we should 
feel the loss as if it had occurred to-day ? ” 

“ Who tells us that the manuscript is irre- 
trievably lost ? ” rejoined the Professor, with 
suppressed emotion. “ Once more place yourself 
before the book ; it can tell us also of the fate 
of the manuscript.” 

The Doctor rushed to the table, and seized 
the little book of the Holy Hildegard. 


** Here, after the catalogue,” said the Profes- 
sor, showing him the last page of the book, 
“ there is more.” 

The Doctor fixed his eyes on the page. Latin 
characters without meaning or break were writ- 
ten in seven successive lines ; under them was a 
name — E. Tobias Bachhuber. 

“ Compare these letters with the Latin 
remarks concerning the title of the mysterious 
manuscript. It is undoubtedly the same hand, 
firm characters of the seventeenth century ; 
remark the ‘ s,’ ‘ r,^ and ‘ f.' ” 

“ It is the same hand ! ” exclaimed the Doc- 
tor, with satisfaction. 

“ The letters without sense are a cypher, such 
as was used in the seventeenth century. This is 
easy to solve, each letter is exchanged wuth the 
one that follows. On this bit of paper I have 
put together the Latin words of the text. The 
translation is, ‘ On the approach of the ferocious 
Swedes, in order to withdraw the treasures of 
our monastery from the search of these roaring 
devils, I have deposited them all in a dry, hollow 
place in the house at Bielstein.^ The day 
Quasimodogeniti 37 — that is, on the 19th April, 
1637. What do you say now, Fritz ? It appears 
from this that in the time of the Thirty Years’ 
War the manuscript had not been burnt, for 
Frater Tobias Bachhuber — blest be his memory 
— had at that time vouchsafed to look upon it 
with some consideration, and as in the record he 
had favoured it with an especial remark, he pro- 
bably did not leave it behind in his flight. The 
mysterious manuscript was thus in the Monastery 
of Rossau till 1637, and the brother, in the April 
of this year, concealed it and other goods from 
the Swedish boprs in a hollow and dry spot in 
Castle Bielstein.” 

“Now the matter becomes serious,” cried the 
Doctor. 

“ Yes, it is serious, my friend ; it is not im- 
possible that the manuscript may still lie con- 
cealed somewhere.” 

“ And Castle Bielstein ?” 

“ Lies near the little town of Rossau. The 
monastery w’as in neetly circumstances, and 
under ecclesiastical protection till the Thirty 
Years’ War. In 1637 the town and monastery 
were ravaged by the Swedes; the last monks 
disappeared, and the monastery was never again 
re-established. That is all I have been able to 
learn up to this time ; for anything further I 
request your help.” 

“ The next question will be whether the 
castle outlasted the war,” answered the Doctor, 
“ and what has become of it now. It will be 
more difficult to ascertain where Brother 
Tobias Bachhuber ended his days, and most 
difficult of all to discover through what hands 
his little book has reached us.” 

“ I obtained the book from an antiquary here ; 
it was a new acquisition, and not yet entered in 
his list. To-morrow I will obtain any further 
information which the seller may be able to 
give. It will, perhaps, be worth while to in- 
vestigate further,” he continued, more coolly, 
endeavouring to pour a stream of rational re- 
flection over the burning glow of his hopes. 
“ More than two hundred years have passed 
since that secret notice of the brother ; the de- 
structive powers were not less active, the year 


8 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


ill which the monastery was destroyed, than at 
an earlier period, especially war and plunder.” 

“ And yet the probability that the manuscript 
is preserved to the present day increases with 
every century,” interposed the Doctor; “for the 
number of men who would value such a dis- 
covery has so increased since the war, that de- 
struction from rude ignorance has become almost 
incredible.” 

“ We must not trust too much to the know- 
ledge of the present day,” said the Professor; 
“but if it were so,” he t’outinued, his eyes 
flashing, “if the Imperial history of the first 
century, as written by Tsicitus, were restored 
by tt propitious fate, it would be a gift so great 
that the thought of the possibility of it might 
well, like Roinu» wine, intoxicate uu honest 
man.” 

“ Invaluable,” assented the Doctor, “for our 
knowledge of the language ; for a hundred par- 
ticulars of Roman history.” 

“ For the most ancieiiD history of Germany ! ” 
exclaimed the Professor. 

Both traversed the lOom with rapid steps, 
shook hands, and looked at each other joyfully. 

“ And if a fortunate accident should bring us 
on the track of this mauusci’ipt,” began Fritz, 
“ if through you it should be restored to the 
light of day, you, my friend, you are the best 
man to bring it forth. The thought that you 
would experience such a pleasure, and that a 
work of such renown would fall to your lot, 
makes me happier than 1 can say.” 

“ If we can find the manuscript,” answered 
the Professor, “it can only be brought out by 
both of us.” 

“ By us ? ” exclaimed Fritz, with suiiirise. 

“ Ry me,” said the Professor, with de- 

cision ; “ it would make your capuc'ty known 
in wide circles.” 

Fritz drew back. “ How can you think that 1 
would be so presumptuous ? ” 

“ Do not contradict me,” exclaimed the Pro- 
fessor, “ you are perfectly adapted for it.” 

“ That I am not,” answered Fritz, firmly ; 
“and 1 am too proud to undertake anything for 
which I should have more to thank your kind- 
ness than my own powers.” 

“ That is undue modesty,” again exclaimed 
the Professor. 

“ 1 shall never do it,” answered Fritz. “And 
you belie your own tenderest susceptibilities, if 
yvu lor one moment think that I could adorn niy- 
sell before the public with borrowed plumage.” 

‘‘ I know better than you,” said the Profe!?sor, 
indignantly, “ what you can do, and what is for 
your advantage.” 

“ At all events. It would not benefit me, that 
you should have the lion’s share of the labour, 
and secretly be deprived of the reward. Not my 
luodesty, but my self-respect forbids this. And 
this feeling you ought to honour,” concluded 
Fritz, with great enei'gy. 

“ Now,” i-eturned the Professor, restraining his 
excited teelings, “ we are behaving like the man 
who bought a house and field with the money 
uroduced by a calf which was not yet born. Be 
calm, 1* l it/, neither 1 nor you will bring out the 
manuscript.” 

“ And never shall we know how the Roman 
Linperor treated the ill-fated Thusnelda and the 


Thumelicus ! ” said Fritz, going up sympai'Lis* 
ingly to his friend. 

“ But it is not the absence of such j)articulars,” 
said the Professor, “ that makes the loss of the 
manuscript so greatly felt, for the main facts 
may be obtained from other sources. The most 
important point will always be, that Tacitus was 
the first, and in many respects is the only his- 
, torian who has portrayed tlie most striking and 
gloomy phases of human nature. His works 
that are extant are two historical tragedies, 
scenes in the Julian and Flavian Imperial houses 
— fearful pictures of the enormous change 
which, in the course of a century, took place in 
the greatest city of antiquity, in the character of 
its emperors and in the souls of their subjects — 
the history of a tyrannical rule, which extermi- 
nated a noble race, drove away and destroyed a 
high and rich civilisation, and above all degraded, 
with lew exce})tions, the rulers themselves. We 
have, even up to the present day, scarcely 
another work whose author looks so searchingly 
into the souls of a whole succession of princes, 
and which describes so acutely and accurately 
the ruin which was wrought in ditferent natures 
by the fiendish \ind distempered n-unds of the 
kings.” 

“ It always makes me angry,” said the 
Doctor, “ when 1 hear him reproached as having 
for the most part written only Imperial and court 
histoi-y. Who can expect grai)es from a cypress, 
and satisfactory enjoyment in the grand state life 
of a man, who during a great portion of his man- 
hood saw daily before his eyes the dagger ami 
poison-cup of a mad despot ? ” 

“ Yes,” agreed the Professor, “ who could 
write the history of the Roman princes, but one 
of their owu circle ? The blackest crimes were 
concealed behind the stonewalls of the palace; 
rumour, the low murmur of the antechamber, 
the lurking look of concealed hatred, were often 
the only sources of the historian,” 

“ All that remains for us to do is to value dis- 
creetly the judgment of the man who has de- 
livered to us information concerning this strange 
condition of things. Whoever will consider with 
respect and diffidence the fragments that have 
been preserved of Tacitus, will honour and 
admire his profound insight into the deepest 
folds of the Roman character. It is an ex- 
perienced statesman, of a powerful and truthful 
mind, relating to us the secret history of his 
time, so clearly that we understand the men and 
all their doings as if we had ourselves the oppor- 
tunity of reading their hearts. He who can do 
this for later centuries is not only a great his- 
toi'ian but a most invaluable man. And for 
such 1 have always felt a deep, heartfelt reve- 
rence, and 1 consider it the duty of a true critic 
to clear such a character from the attacks of 
petty minds.” 

“ Scarcely has one of his contemporaries,” said 
the Doctor, “ felt as dee])ly as himself the 
poverty of the cultivation of his own time.” 

“ \ es,” rejoined the Professor, “ he was a 
genuine man, iu so far as was possible in his 
time, and that is, after all, the main point. For 
what we most reipiire, is not the amount of 
know'ledge for which we liave to thank a great 
jnan, but' his own personality, w hich, through 
what he has produced for us,' becomes a portion 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


9 


of ourselves. Thus the spirit of Aristotle is 
something different to us than the substance of 
his teaching. In this sense the sad and sorrow- 
ful spirit of Tacitus is far more to me than his 
descriptions of the emperor’s madness. And 
you see, Fritz, it is on this account that your 
Sanscrit and Indian languages are not satis- 
factory to me — the men are wanting in them.” 

“ It is, at least, difficult for us to recognise 
them,” answered the friend. “ But one who, 
like you, explains the Homeric songs to the 
students, ought not to undervalue the charm 
that lies in sounding the secret depths of man’s 
creations in that period of manhood in which 
the youthful national strength as yet concealed 
from our view the one thing which worked in 
them, and the people itself come before one in 
poetry, traditions, and law, assuming the shape 
of a living individuality.” 

“ He who only occupies himself thus,” an- 
swei'cd the Professor, eagerly, “ will soon be- 
come fantastic and weak. The study of such 
ancient times acts like Oriental opium, and he 
who lingers all his life in such studies, will even 
in the point of view from which he has de- 
termined his own life, hardly avoid prejudice.” 

Fritz i-ose. “ That is our old cpiarrel. I 
know you do not wish to speak harshly to me, 
but I feel that you intend this for me.” 

“ And am I wrong ? ” continued the Professor. 
“ I undoubtedly have a respect for every intel- 
lectual woi’k, but I desire for my friend that 
which will be most beneticial to him. Your in- 
vestigations into Indian and German mythology 
entice you from one problem to another; youthful 
energies should not linger in the endless domain 
of indistinct contemplations and unreal shadows. 
Compel yourself to come to a decision on other 
grounds also. It is not worth your while to be 
a private tutor, that life is too easy for you, you 
need the outward pressure of a detinite domain 
of duties. You have more than the qualities 
requisite for a teacher. Do not remain in your 
parents’ house; you must become a University 
lecturer.” 

A heightened colour spread slowly over the 
face of his friend. “ It is enough,” he ex- 
claimed, with vexation ; “ if I have thought top 
little of my future, you should not reproach me 
for it. It has perhaps been too great a pleasure 
to me to live near you, and to be the quiet 
conlUlant of your powerful labours. Somewhat 
of that blessing which is imparted from the life 
of a man to all who participate in his intellec- 
tual creations, 1 have felt in your company. 
Good'iiiirht.” 

The Professor went up to him, and clasping 
both his hands, cried out “ Itemain ; arc you 
angrv vedth me ?” 

“No,” answered Fritz, “but I am going,” 
and he closed the door gently. 

The Professor paced uj) and down with heavy 
tread, reproaching hinise*lt tor his vehenu lice. 
At last he threw the books which had served as 
a telegraph vehemently back on the shelt, and 
placed himself again at his writing-table. 

Gabriel lighted the Doctor down the stairs, 
opened the house-door, and shook his head when 
he found his “ good night ” met with a short 
return. He extinguislud the light and listened 
at his master’s door, ^\’hen he heard th ; j ro- 


fessor’s steps, he determined to refresh himself 
with a breath of the soft evening air, and 
descended into the little garden. There he met 
the master of the house, Herr Hummel, who, 
probably with the same object, was walking 
under the windows of the Professor. Herr 
Hummel was a broad-shouldered man, wiih a 
large head and determined face, wealthy and 
well-preserved, of honest and old Franconian 
aspect. He smoked a thick-headed long pipe, 
on which was a row of small steeple buttons. 

“ A fine evening, Gabriel,” began Herr 
Hummel, “ a good season, and what a harvest !” 
He tapped the servant confidentially. “ Has 
anything happened there above ? the window is 
open. Not that I would listen, but I cannot 
help perceiving many things, Gabriel,” he con- 
cluded significantly, and shook disapprovingly 
his householder head. 

“ He has again shut the window,” answered 
Gabriel, evasively. “ The bats and the moths 
become troublesome, and when he discourses 
with the Doctor they both become so loud that 
people in the streets remain and listen.” 

“ Circumspection is always well,” said Herr 
Hummel ; “ but what has happened in par- 
ticular ? Tlie Doctor is the son of the man over 
yonder, and you know my opinion, Gabriel — I 
trust them not. I do not wish to injure any one, 
but I have my views concerning them.” 

“ What it was about,” answered Gabriel, “ I 
have not heard ; but this I can tell you, it was 
concerning the ancient Romans. L(X)k you, 
Herr Hummel, if we had the old Romans much 
amongst us it would be difierent. Those were 
swaggerers who knew how to forage ; they knew 
how to carry on war, they could conquer every- 
where.” 

“ You speak like an incendiary,” said Herr 
Hummel, with dis})leasure. 

“ Yes, they did it thoroughly,” answered 
Gabriel, self-complacently. “ They were a 
selfish people, and had hair on their teeth like 
the hedgehog. But what is most wondei-ful is 
the number of books these Romans wrote all the 
while, small and great — many also iti folio. 
When I dust the library there is no end of those 
Romans of every kind of calibre, and many 
thicker than the Bible. Only they are all 
difficult to read, but one who knows the lan- 
guage may learn much.” 

“ The Romans are an e.xtinct people,” replied 
Herr Hummel. “ When there was an end of 
them the Germans came. The Romans would 
never do with us. The only thing that can 
help us is the Hanse. That is the thing to 
look to. Powerful by sea, Gabriel,” he ex- 
claimed, shaking him by the button of his coat, 
“the cities must undertake it; combination, 
capital, and trade are there, credit is there, and 
men are not wanting. Ships are built and Hags 
are hoisted.” 

“ And will you go with your boat on the 
great sea?” asked Gabriel, pointing with his 
hand to a little boat which lay at the back of 
the garden, tilted over on two planks. “ Shall 
1 go with my Professor to sea ?” 

“ There is no question of that,” answered 
Herr Hummel ; “ let the young people go first 
of all, — they arc useless. Many could do better 
than stay at home with their parents. Why 


10 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


nhould the Doctor up there not go out as a 
sailor for his fatherland ?” 

“ Wliat do you mean, Herr Hummel ?” cried 
Gabriel, startled; “the young gentleman is 
shortsighted.” 

“ It matters not,” growled out Herr Hummel, 

for they use telescopes at sea, and for aught I 
care he may become a captain. I am not the 
man to wish evil to my neighbour.” 

“ He is a man of learning,” replied Gabriel, 

and this class is also necessary. I can assure 
you, Herr Hummel, I have thought much con- 
cerning the learned character. I know my 
Professor accurately, and something of the 
Doctor, and I must say there is something in 
it — there is much in it. Frequently I am 
doubtful. 'Wlien the tailor brings the Professor 
home a new coat he does not remark what 
everyone else knows, whether the coat fits him, 
or f^ls in folds on his back. If the idea comes 
into his head to buy from a peasant a load of 
wood, which perhaps has been stolen, he pays 
behind my back much more than any one else, 
'’’hen the matter appears to me doubtful. Rut 
i^'heu I see what he is in all other respects, kind 
and compassionate even to the fly that dances 
about his nose — for he takes it with his spoon 
out of the coffee and sets it outside on the 
window-sill — and how he would give the best to 
all the world, and how he allows himself nothing, 
and reads and writes till late in the night; 
then his whole life affects me i^owerfully. And 
I tell you I cannot allow that any one comes up 
to our learned men. They are different from us, 
they do not understand what we do, but we do 
not understand what they do.” 

“ Yet we also have our culture,” replied Herr 
Hummel. “ What you have said, Gabriel, you 
have spoken as an honourable man, but one 
thing i will confide to you — a man may have 
great knowledge, and yet be a regular hard- 
hearted individual, that gives money on usurious 
interest, and clips the honour of his friends. 
And therefore I think the main point is to have 
I’cgularity and boundaries, and leave something 
to one’s descendants. Regularity here,” he 
pointed to his breast, “ and a boundary there,” 
pointing to his fence, “ that one may be secure 
as to what belongs to oue’s self and what to 
another, and a secure property for one’s children, 
on which they may settle themselves. That is 
what I understand as the life of man.” 

The householder closed the gate of the fence 
and the door of the house. Gabriel also sought 
his bed, but the lamp iu the Professor’s study 
burnt late into the night, and its rays inter- 
mingled on the window-sill with the pale 
moonshine. At last tho learned man’s light 
\va3 extinguished, and the room left empty; 
outside, small clouds coursed over the sky and 
over the disc of the room, and flickering lights 
reigned paramount in the room over the 
WTitiug-table, over the works of the old Romans, 
and over the little book of the defunct Ik-othcr 
Tobias. 


CHAPTER II. 

We are led to believe that in future times 
there will be nothing but love and happiness 


upon the earth ; and men will go about with 
palm branches in their hands to chase away the 
last of those birds of night, hatred and 
malice. In such a chase one should probably 
find the last nest of these monsters hanging 
between the >valls of two neighbouring houses. 
For they have nestled between neighbour and 
neighbour ever since the rain trickled from the 
roof of one house into the court of the other ; ever 
since the rays of the sun were kept away from one 
house by the wall of the other; ever since the 
children thrust their hands through the hedge 
to steal berries ; ever since the master of the 
house has been inclined to consider himself 
better than his fellow-men. There are in our 
days few houses iu the land between which so 
much ill-will and hostile criticism exist, as 
between the two houses iu the great park of tho 
city town. 

Many will remember the time when the houses 
of the tow'll did not extend to the wooded valley. 
'Hien there were only a few small houses along 
the lanes ; behind lay a waste place where 
Frau Knips, the washerwoman, dried the 
citizens’ shirts, and her two ill-behaved 
boys threw the wooden clothes-pcgs at one 
another. There Herr Hummel had bougiit a 
dry spot, quite at the end of the street, and had 
built his pretty house of two storeys, with stone 
steps and iron railing, and behind a simple 
workshop for his trade, for he was a hatter, and 
cai’ried on the business very extensively. When 
he went out of his house and surveyed the reliefs 
on the roof and the plaster arabesques under the 
w'indows, he congratulated himself on being 
surrounded by light and air and free nature, and 
felt that he was the foremost pillar of civilisation 
against the primeval forest. 

Then he experienced what often happens to 
disturb the repose of the pioneers of the wilder- 
n3ss, — his example found imitators. On a dark 
morning of March, a waggon loaded w ith old 
planks came to the drying-gi-ound which was 
opposite hifl house. A boarded fence W'jis soon 
put together, and labourers with mattocks and 
w'heelbarrow's began to dig up the ground. This 
was a hard blow for Herr Hummel. Rut his 
suffering became greater when, walking angrily 
across the street and inquiring the name of the 
man who was causing such injury to the light 
and repute of his house, he learnt that his future 
neighbour was to be the manufacturer Hahn, 
lhat it should be him of all men in the world, 
was the greatest vexation fate could inflict upon 
him. Hahn was not otherwise than respectable, 
there was nothing bad to be said of his 
family, but he was Hummel’s natural opponent, 
for the business of the new settler was also in 
hats, though certainly it was straw hats. The 
manufactuie of this light trash was never con- 
sidered as dignified, manly work ; it was not a 
guild handicraft ; it had no riglit to make 
apprentices freemen ; it was, besides, carried on 
only by Italian peasants ; it has only lately, like 
other bad customs, spread through the world as 
a novelty ; it is, in fact, not a business, — ^the 
plaits of straw are bought and sown together by 
young girls who are engaged by the week. 
And there is an old enmity betwixt the felt hat 
and straw hat. The felt hat is an historical 
power consecrated through thousands of vears, it 


THE HOSTILE NEIGHBOURS. 


n 


only tolerates the cap as a common contrivance 
For work-days. Now the straw hat raises its 
pretensions against prescribed right, and in- 
solently lays claim to the half of the year. And 
since this time the scales of earthly approbation 
have fluctuated between these two attributes of 
the human race. When the unstable minds of 
mortals wavered towards the straw, the most 
beautiflil felt, velveteen, silk, and pasteboard 
were left unnoticed, distended by the air, and 
eaten by moths. On the other hand, when the 
inclinations of men turned to the felt, every 
human being — women, children, and nursery- 
maids — wore small men’s hats; then was the 
condition of the straw lamentable, — no heart 
beat for it, and the household mouse nestled in 
its most beautiful plaits. 

This was a strong ground for indignation to 
Herr Hummel, but worse was to come. He saw 
daily the rise of the hostile house from the 
ground ; he watched the scaflblding, the rising 
walls, the ornaments of the cornice, and the 
rows of windows — it was two windows larger 
than his house. The ground floor rose, then a 
second floor, and at last a third. All the work- 
rooms of the straw man were attached to the 
dwelling. The house of Herr Hummel had 
sunk into insignificance. He then went to his 
lawyer, and demanded vengeance on account of 
the light being obscured and the prospect spoilt ; 
(he man of law naturally shrugged his shoulders. 
The privilege of building houses was one of the 
fundamental rights of man, it w'as the common 
German custom to live in houses, and it was 
obviously hopeless to propose that Hahn should 
only erect on his piece of ground a canvas tent. 
Thus there was absolutely nothing to do but to 
submit with patience, and Herr Hummel might 
have known that himself. 

Years have passed away. At the same hour 
the light of the sun gilds both houses ; there 
they stand stately and inhabited, both occupied 
by men who daily pass one another. At the 
same hour the letter-carrier enters both houses, 
the pigeons fly from one roof to the other, and 
the sparrows hop on the gutters of both in the 
most cordial relations ; about one house there is 
sometimes a little smeU of sulphur, and about 
the other of singed hair ; but the same summer 
wind wafts from the wood through the doors of 
both dwellings, the scent of the pine trees and 
the perfume of the lime (lowers. And yet the 
deep aversion of the inhabitants has not dimin- 
ished. The house of Hahn objects to singed 
hair, and the family of Hummel cough in- 
dignantly in their garden whenever they suspect 
sulphur in the oxygen of the air. 

It is true that decorous behaviour to the 
neighbourhood was not quite trampled under 
foot: even though the felt was inclined to be 
quarrelsome, the straw was more pliant, and 
showed itself yielding in many cases. Both 
were acquainted with a family in which they 
sometimes met, nay, both had once stood for the 
same godchild, and care had been taken that 
one should not give a smaller christening gift 
than the other. This unavoidable acquaintance 
necessitated slight greetings whenever one could 
not get out of the way of the other. But there 
it ended. Betwixt the shopman who cleaned 
tlie straw hats with sulphur, and the workman 


who presided over the hareskins, there existed a 
burning hatred. And the small people who 
dwelt in the nearest houses of the street knew 
this, and did their best to maintain the existing 
relation. But, in fact, the character of both 
householders could scarcely harmonise. Their 
dialect was ditterent, their education was of 
another kind, the favourite dislies and the do- 
mestic arrangements that were approved by one 
displeased the other. Hummel was of North 
German lineage, Hahn had flitted hither from 
a small town in the neighbourhood. 

When Herr Hummel spoke of his neighbour 
Hahn, he called him a man of straw and a fan- 
tastical fellow. Herr Hahn was a thoughtful 
man, quiet and industrious in his business, but 
in his hours of recreation he devoted himself to 
some peculiar fancies. These were undoubtedly 
intended to make a favourable impi’cssion on tlie 
public who passed between the two houses to- 
wards the meadow and green trees. He had 
heaped together in his little garden most of the 
contrivances by which modern garden art beau- 
tifies the earth. Between the three elder bushes 
there rose up a rock built of tufa, with a small, 
steep path to the top, and the expedition up to 
this summit could only be ventured upon with- 
out an Alpine staflT, by firm mountain climbers, 
and even they would be in danger of falling on 
their noses on the jagged tufa. The following 
year, near to the railing, poles were erected at 
short distances, round which climbed creepers, 
and between each pole hung a coloured glass 
lamp. When the row of lamps was lighted up 
on festive evenings they threw a magic splen- 
dour on the straw hats which were placed under 
the elder bushes, and challenged the judgment 
of the passers by. The glass balls were followed 
by a year of paper lanterns. Again the next year 
the garden bore a classical aspect, for a white 
statue of a muse, surrounded by ivy and bloom- 
ing wallflowers, shone forth far into the wood. 

In contradistinction to such novelties Herr 
Hummel remained firm to his preference for 
water. At the back of his house a small canal 
flowed to the town. Every year his boat was 
painted the same green, and in his leisure hours 
he loved to go alone in his boat and row him- 
self away from the houses into the park. He 
took his rod in his hand, and devoted himself 
to the pleasure of catching gudgeons, minnows, 
and other little water people. 

Doubtless the Hummel family were more 
aristocratic, that is more determined, more out 
of the common, and more difficult to deal with. 
Of all the housewives of the street, Frau Hum- 
mel raised the greatest pretensions by her silk 
dresses and gold watch and chain. She was a 
little lady with blonde curls, still very pretty ; 
she had a seat at the theatre, was accomplished 
and kindhearted, but could become irritable. 
She looked as if she saw nothing that was going 
on, but she knew everything that passed in the 
street. Her husband alone was occasionally 
beyond her powers of government. Yet whilst 
Herr Hummel was tyrannical to all the world, 
he sometimes showed his wife great consideration. 
When she was too much for him in the house, 
he went silently into the garden ; and if she 
followed him there, he ensconced himself in the 
manufactory behind a bulwark of nap. 


12 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


But even Frau Hummel was subject to a 
liigher power, and this power was exercised by 
her little daughter, Laura. This was the only 
one remaining to her of many children, and all 
the tenderness and soft feeling of the mother 
had become her portion. And she Was a dainty 
little brat ; the whole town knew her ever since 
she wore her first red shoes ; she u as often de- 
tained when in the arms of her attendant, and 
had many presents given her. She grew up a 
merry, round, compact little maiden, with two 
large blue eyes and round cheeks, with dark 
•curly hair, and an arch countenance. When 
the little rosy Hummel walked along the streets, 
her hands in the pockets of her apron, she was 
the joy of the whole neighbourhood. Sprightly 
and decided, she knew how to behave herself to 
all, and was never backward in offering her little 
mouth to be kissed. She would give the wood- 
cutter at the door her buttered roll, and join 
him in drinking the thin coffee out of his cup ; 
she accompanied the postman all along the 
street, and her greatest pleasure was to run 
with him up the steps, to ring and deliver his 
letters ; she even once slipped out of the room 
late in the evening, and placed herself by the 
watchman, on a corner stone, and held his great 
horn in impatient expectation of the striking 
of the hour at which it was to be sounded. Frau 
Hummel lived in unceasing anxiety lest her 
daughter should be stolen, for more than once 
she had disappeared for many hours ; she had 
gone with children who were strangers to their 
abode, and had played with them ; — she was the 
pati’oness of many of the little urchins in the 
street, knew how to make them respect her, 
gave them pennies, and received as tokens of 
esteem humming-devils and. little chimney- 
sweepers, which were composed of dried plums 
on little wooden sticks. She was a kindheai*ted 
child that rather laughed than wept, and her 
merry face made the house of Herr Hummel a 
pleasanter abode than the ivy screen of the 
mistress of the house, or the massive bust of 
Herr Hummel himself, which looked down most 
doggedly on Laura’s dolls’-room. 

“ The child becomes insupportable,” ex- 
claimed Frau Hummel, angrily dragging in the 
troubled Laura by the hand. “ The whole day 
long she is tramping about the streets. J ust 
now when I came from market she was sitting 
near the bridge on the chair of the fruit- woman 
selling onions for her. Everyone was gather- 
ing round her, and 1 had to fetch away my child 
out of the crowd.” 

“ The little monkey will do well,” answered 
Herr Hummel, laughing; “why will you not 
let her enjoy her childhood ?” 

“ She must give up this low society. She is 
wanting in all sense of refinement, she hardly 
knows her letters, and she has a distaste to 
reading. It is time, too, that she shoxdd begin 
the French vocabulary. Little Betty, the coiiu- 
cillor’s daughter, is not older, and she knows 
how to call her mother so prettily c/iere 
mere/’ 

“ The French are a polite people,” answered 
Herr Hummel ; “ if you are so anxious to pre- 
pare your datighior for market, the Turkish 
language would be better than the French. The 
1 ui'k pays money if you dispose of yom* child to 


him, the others wish to have something into the 
bai'gain.” 

“ Do not speak so inconsiderately, Henry,” 
exclaimed the wife. 

“ Be off with you, with your cursed vocabu- 
laries, else I promise you 1 will teach the child 
all the French forms of speech 1 know ; they 
are not many, but they are strong. Baisez-moiy 
Madame Hummel Saying this, he left the 
room with an air of defiance. 

The result, however, of this consultation was 
that Laura went to school. It was very difficult 
for her to listen and be silent, and for a long 
time her progress was not satisfactory. But at 
last her little soul was fired with and)ition ; she 
climbed the lower steps of learning with 
Fraulein Johanne, and then she w'as promoted 
to the renowned Institute of Fraulein Jeannette, 
where the daughters of families of pretension 
I’eceived the higher branches of education. 
There she learnt the tributaries of the Amazon, i 
and much Egyptian history ; she could tap the 
cover of the electrophorus, speak of the w'eather 
in French, and read English so ingeniously, 
that even true-born Britons w'ere obliged to 
acknowledge that a new language had been 
discovered; lastly, she was accomplished in all 
the elegancies of German composition. Shb 
wrote small treatises on the dilferenee betwTen 
waking and sleeping, upon the feelings of the 
famed Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, upon the 
terrors of a shipwreck, and of the desert island 
on which she ha<I been saved. Finally, she 
gained some knowledge of the composition of 
strophes and sonnets. It soon became clear that 
Laura’s strong point w^as German, not Fz’ench ; 
her style w'as the delight of the Institute ; nay, 
she began to write poems in honour of her 
teachers and favourite companions, in which 
she very happily imitated the difiicult rhymes of 
the great Schiller, from the “ Song of the Bell ” 
to the “ Wreath of Golden Ears.” She was now 
eighteen, a pretty rosy young lady, still plump 
and merry, still the ruling power of the house, 
and still loved by all the people in the street. 

The mother, proud of the accomplishments of 
her daughter, after her confirmation, prepared 
an upper room for her, looking out upon the 
trees of the park, and Laura fitted up her little 
home like a fairy castle, with an ivy screen, a 
little fiow'er table, and a writing apparatus of 
china, on which shepherds and shepherdesses 
wore sitting side by side. There she passed her 
pleasantest hours with her pen and blotting- 
paper, writing her memoirs in secret. 

fcihe also partook of the aversion of her pai’ents 
for the neighbouring family. Already as a 
little thing she had passed pouting before the 
door ot that house, never had her foot crossed its 
threshold, and wizen the good Frau Hahn ozice 
asked her to shake hazids, it was long befoz’e she 
could znake up her mizidto di’aw h.r hand out of 
her api’ozi pocket. Of the inhabitants of the izeigh- 
bouring house the one most annoying to her was 
young Fritz Hahiz. She seldozn associated with 
him, but uzzfoi'tuziately she was alvvuya in some 
embarrasszzzeizt which enabled Fritz jiahn to act 
the pai't ot her pi’otector. Before she vvezzt to 
school, the eldest son of Frau Kuips, already a 
growzz-up clown, who painted fine pictures and 
biz'thday wishes, and sold thezu to people in the 


THE HOSTILE NEIGHBOURS. 


13 


neighbourhood, unshed to compel her to give the 
money slie held in her hand for a devil’s head, 
whieh he had painted, and no one in the street 
would have ; he treated her so I’oughly and ill, 
that, contrary to her wont, in terror she gave 
her groschens and held the horrible picture in 
her hand, weeping. Fritz Hahn happened to 
come that way, inquired what had taken ])lace, 
and when she complained to him of Kuips’ 
violent conduct, he was so angry that she be- 
came frightened about him. He set upon the 
lad, who was his fellow-scholar and in a higher 
class than himself, and began to thrash him on 
the spot, whilst the younger Knips looked on 
laughing, with his hands in his pocket. Fritz 
pushed the naughty boy against the wall, and 
compelled him to give up the little piece of 
money and take back his devil. But this meet- 
ing did not help to make her like Fritz any the 
better. She could not bear him, because already 
as an undergraduate he wore spectacles, and 
always looked straight before him so seriously. 
And when she came from school, and he went 
with his portfolio to the lecture, she always 
endeavoured to get out of his way. 

On another occasion they came in contact. 
She was among the first girls in the Institute ; 
the eldest Knips was already magister, and the 
younger apprentice in his father’s business, and 
Fritz Hahn had just become a doctor. She had 
rowed herself in the boat between the trees in 
the park, till the boat struck against a root and 
her oar fell into the water. As she was bending 
down to recover it, both hat and parasol went 
the same way. Laura in her embarrassment 
looked to the shore for help. Again it so 
happened that Fritz Hahn was passing near in 
deep thought. He heard the faint cry which 
the accident called forth from Laura; sprang 
into the muddy water, fished up the hat and 
parasol, and drew the boat to the shore. Here 
he offered Laura his hand and helped her on to 
firm ground. Laura undoubtedly owed him 
thanks, and he had also treated her with respect 
and called her Fraulein. But then there was 
something laughable about his looks, the thin 
figure bent itself so awkwardly, and the glasses 
were directed full upon her. And when she 
afterwards learned that he had caught a terrible 
cold from his jump into the swamp, she became 
indignant both with herself and him, because 
she had called out when there was no danger, 
and he had rushed there with such useless 
chivalry. She could have helped herself, and 
now the Hahns would think she owed them no 
end of thanks. 

On this point she might have been at ease, for 
Fritz had quietly changed his clothes and*di-ied 
them in his room. 

But indeed it was quite natural that the two 
hostile children should avoid each other, for Fritz 
was of quite a different nature. He also was an 
only child, and tenderly brought up by a kind- 
hearted father and a too anxious mother. He 
was from his earliest childhood quiet and self- 
possessed, unpretending and industrious at his 
books. In the household of his parents he had 
formed for himself a world in a science that lay 
far removed from the great highway. Whilst 
around him was the merry hum of life, he 
pored over Sanscrit characters, and investigated 


the family connection between the wild spirit 
host that hovered over the Teutoburger battle, 
and the gods of the Veda, who floated over palm- 
woods and bamboos in the hot valley of the 
Ganges. He also was the pride and joy of his 
family ; his mother never failed to carry him 
his cup of coffee every morning ; then she 
seated herself opposite him with her bunch of 
keys, and looked silently at him whilst he eat 
his breakfast, scolded him gently for working so 
late into the previous night, and told him that 
she could not sleep quietly till she heard him 
l)ush back his chair overhead, and clatter with his 
boots, which he placed outside the door to be 
cleaned. After breakfast, Fritz went to his 
father to wish him good morning, and he knew 
that it gave his father pleasure when he walked 
with him for a few minutes in the garden, 
observing the growth of his favourite flowers, 
and when, above all, he approved of his garden 
projects. This was the only point on which 
Herr Hahn was sometimes at variance with his 
son ; and, as he could not resist his son’s reasons, 
nor restrain his own strong inclination for 
embellishments, he readily struck upon the way, 
which even greater politicians consider useful, — 
he secretly prepared his pnyects, and sui-prised 
him with the execution of them. 

Amidst this tranquil life, intercourse with 
the Professor was the greatest pleasure of the 
day to our young scholar ; it elevated him and 
was his pride. He had whilst yet a student 
heard the first course of lectures given by Felix 
Werner at the University. A friendship had 
gradually arisen, such as is perhaps only possible 
among highly cultivated, sound men of learning. 
Fritz- became the devoted confidant of the 
inexhaustible activity of his friend. Every 
investigation of the Professor, with its results, 
was imparted to him, even to the most minute 
detail, and the pleasure of every new discovery 
was shared by the neighbours. Thus the best 
portion of their life was passed together. Fritz, 
indeed, as the younger, was more a receiver 
than giver; but it was just this that made the 
I’elation so firm and deep. This intercourse was 
not without small disturbances, as is natural to 
scholars, for both were hasty in judgment, both 
high strained in the requirements which they 
made on themselves and others, and both 
easily excited. But such diffei’ences were soon 
settled, and only served to iiicrease the loving 
consideration with which they treated each 
other. 

Through this friendship the bitter relations 
between the two houses were a little mitigated. 
Even Herr Hummel eould not forbear showing 
some respect for the Doctor, as his highly- 
honoured lodger paid such striking marks of 
distinction to the son of the enemy. For Herr 
Hummel could think nothing amiss of his 
lodger. Through vague report he had been 
informed that the Professor was a celebrated 
man in his line, and he was especially inclined 
to esteem highly earthly fame, if it dwelt with 
him as a lodger. Besides, the Professor was a 
most excellent tenant. He never protested 
against any regulation which Herr Hummel, as 
chief magistrate of the house, enacted. He had 
once asked the advice of Herr Hummel con- 
cerning the investment of some capital. He 


14 


'I HE LOST MANUSCRIPT 


posstissed neither dog nor cat, gave no dancing 
parties, and did not sing out of liis window, nor 
play bravuras on the piano. But the main 
point was, that he showed to Frau Hummel and 
Laura wheiiever he met them the most 
chivalrous politeness, which well became a 
learned gentleman. Frau Hummel was en- 
chanted with her lodger; and Hummel found 
it expedient not to mention beforehand in the 
fiunily circle the last necessary rise in the rent, 
because he foresaw a general remonstrance from 
the assembled womankind. 

Now the hobgoblin who ran to and fro be- 
tween both houses, throwing stones in the way, 
and making sport of the men, had tried also to 
excite these two noble souls against each other. 
But his attempt was a miserable failure ; these 
worthy men were not disposed to dance to his 
discordant pipes. 

Early the follovdng morning, Gabriel took 
over a letter from his master to the Doctor. As 
he passed the hostile threshold, Dorchen, the 
waiting-maid of the Hahn family, came in haste 
to meet him with a letter in her hand from her 
young gentleman to the Professor. The messen- 
gers exchanged letters, and the two friends read 
them at the same moment. 

The Professor wrote : — 

“ My dear friend, — Do not be angry with me 
because I have again been vehement ; the cause 
of it was as absurd as possible. I must honestly 
tell you that what put me out was your having so 
unconditionally refused to edit with me a Latin 
author. For the possibility of finding the lost 
manuscript, which we in our pleasant dreams 
assumed for some minutes, was the more enticing 
to me, because it opened a prospect of an em- 
ployment in common to us both. And if I wish 
to draw you within the narrow circle of my 
studies, you may take for granted that it is not 
only from personal feeling, but far more from 
the wish of my heart to avail myself of your 
powers for the branch of learning to which I 
confine myself.” 

Fritz, on the other hand, wrote ; — 

“ Dear, precious friend, — I feel most painfully 
that my irritability yesterday spoilt for us both a 
charming evening. But do not think that I mean 
to dispute your right to represent to me the pro- 
lixity and w'ant of system in my labours. It 
was just because what you said touched a chord, 
the secret dissonance of which I have myself 
sometimes felt, that I for a moment lost my 
equanimity. You are certainly right in much 
that you said, only I beg you to believe that my 
refusal to undertake a gi*eat work in conjunction 
with you was neither selfishness nor want of 
friendship. I am convinced that I ought not to 
abandon the department I have undertaken, 
even though too extensive for my powers ; least 
of all exchange it for a new circle of interests, 
in which my deficient knowledge would be a 
burden to you.” 

After the reception of these letters both were 
somewhat tranquillised. But certain expressions 
in them made some further explanation neces- 
sary to both, so they set to w'ork and wrote 
again to each other shortly and pithily, as 
became thoughtful men. The Professor an- 
swered : “ I thank you from my heart, my 
dear Fiitz, for your letter; but I must repeat 


that you always estima e your own w’orth too 
low, and this is all that 1 can reproach you with.” 

Fritz finally replied : “ How deeply do I feel 
touched by your friendship at this moment. 
This only will I still say, that among the many 
things I have to learn from you there is nothing 
I need more than your modesty ; and when you 
speak of your knowledge, so comprehensive and 
fertile in results, as being limited, be not angry 
if I strive after the same modesty with regard 
to my work.” 

After sending his letter, the Professor, still 
disquieted, went to his lecture, and was con- 
scious that his mind wandered during his dis- 
course. Fritz hastened to the library, and dili- 
gently collected all the notices which he could 
find rjspectirg the Castle of Bielstein. At 
midday, on their return home, each of them 
read the second letter of his friend ; then the 
Professor looked frequently at the clock, and 
when it struck three he hastily put on his hat 
and went with great strides across the street to 
the hostile house. As he laid hold of the door- 
handle of the Doctor’s room, he felt a counter 
pressure from within. Pushing the door open, 
he found Fritz standing before him, also with 
his hat on, intending to go over to him. With- 
out saying a word the two friends embraced 
each oth^r. 

“ I bring you good tidings from the anti- 
quary,” began the Professor. 

“ And I of the old castle,” exclaimed Fritz. 

“ Listen,” said the Professor. “ The anti- 
quary bought the monk’s book of a retail dealer 
who travels about the country collecting curiosi- 
ties and old books. The man was brought into 
my presence ; he had himself bought the little 
b(wk in the town of Rossau, at an auction of the 
efiects of a cloth maker, together with an old 
cupboard and some carved stools. It is at least 
possible that the remarks in cipher at the end, 
which evade unpractised eyes, may never, after 
the death of the brother, have excitt d observa- 
tion nor caused investigation. Perhaps there 
may still be preserved in some church record at 
Rossau an account of the life and death of the 
monk Tobias Bachhuber.” 

“ Well, then,” assented Fritz, much pleased, 
“a community of his confession still exists. 
But Castle Bielstein lies at the distance of half 
an hour from the town of Rossau, on a woody 
height, — see, here is the map. It formerly 
belonged to a sovereign, but in the last century 
it passed into private hands; the buildings, 
however, remain. It is represented in this map 
as an old castle, at present the residence of a 
yeoman. My father also knows about the 
house ; he has seen it from the high road on his 
journeys, and describes it as a long extent of 
building, with balconies and a high roof.” 

“ The threads interweave themselves into a 
good web,” said the Professor, complacently. 

‘‘ Stop a moment,” cried the Doctor, eagerly. 
“ The t;*aditions of this province have been col- 
lected by one of our friends. The man is trust- 
worthy. Let us see whether he has recorded 
any reminiscences of the neighbourhood of Ros- 
sau.” He hastily opened and looked into a 
book, and then gazed speechless at his friend. 

The Professor seized the volume, and read 
this short notice : “ It is said that in the olden 


THE JOUKNEY SKYWARD. 


15 


Limes the monks in the neighbourhood of Biel- 
stein walled up a great treasure in the castle.” 

Again did a vision of the old mysterious 
manuscript arise before the eyes of the friends so 
distinctly that it might be laid hold of. 

“ It is certainly not impossible that the manu- 
script may yet lie hidden,” remarked the Pro- 
fessor, at last, with assumed composure. “ Exam- 
ples are. not wanting of similar discoveries. It 
is not long since that a ceiling of a room in 
the old house of the proprietor of my homo was 
broken through; it was a double ceiling, and 
the empty space contained a number of records 
and papers concerning the rights of possession, 
and some old ornaments. The treasure had 
been concealed in the time of the great war, and 
no one for a century had heeded the lowly ceil- 
ing of the little room.” 

“ Naturally,” exclaimed Fritz, rubbing his 
hands, “ also within the facing of the old 
chimneys there are sometimes empty spaces. A 
brother of my mother’s found, on rebuilding his 
house, in such a place a pot of coins.” He drew 
out his pm^e. “ Here is one of them, a beauti- 
ful Swedish thaler ; my uncle gave it to me at 
the consecration as a luck-penny, and I have 
carried it ever since in my purse. I have often 
struggled against the temptation to give it 
away.” 

The Professor examined accurately the head 
of Gustavus Adolphus, as if it had been a 
neighbour of the concealed Tacitus, and would 
convey information concerning the lost book in 
its inscription. It is true,” he said, reflec- 
tively, “ if the house is on a height, even the 
cellars may be dry.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” answered the Doctor. “ Fre- 
quently the thick walls were double, and the 
intervening space was filled with rubbish. In 
such a case it would be easy, through a small 
opening, to make a hollow space in the inside of 
the wall.” 

“ But it now,” began the Professor, rising, 
“ becomes a question for us ; what are we to 
do ? For the knowledge of such a thing, 
whether it be of great or little importance, lays 
upon the searcher the duty of doing all that is 
possible to promote the discovery. And this 
duty we must fulfil, promptly and completely.” 

“ If you impart this record to the public, you 
w'ill allow the prospect of discovering the manu- 
script to pass out of your own hands.” 

“ In this business, every personal considera- 
tion must be dismissed,” said the Professor, 
decisively. 

“ And if you now make known the cloister 
record you have found,” continued the Doctor, 
“ who can answer for it, that the nimble activity 
of some antiquary, or some foreigner, may not 
prevent all further investigations ? In such a 
case the treasure, even if found, would be lost, 
not only to you, but also to our country and to 
•cience.” 

“ Tliat, at least, must not be,” cried the Pro- 
fessor. 

“ And besides, even if you apply to the go- 
vernment of the province, it is very doubtful 
whether they will render you any assistance,” 
replied the Doctor, triumphantly. 

“ I do not think of committing the matter to 
strangers and oificials,” answered the Professor. 


*‘We have some one in the neighbourhood 
whose good fortune and acuteness in tracing 
out rarities is wonderful. I have a mind to teU 
Magister Knips of the manuscript ; he may lay 
aside his proof sheets for some days, travel for 
us to Rossau, and there examine the ground.” 

The Doctor jumped up. “ That shall never 
happen. Knips is not the man to trust with 
such a secret.” 

“ I have always found him trustworthy,” re- 
plied the Professor. “ He is wonderfully skilful 
and well-informed.” 

To me it woxild appear a desecration of this 
fine discovery, to employ such a trumpery man,” 
answered Fritz, “ and I would never consent to 
it.” 

In that case,” cried the Professor, I have 
made up my mind. The vacation is at hand : I 
will go myself to the old house. And as you, 
my friend, wish to travel for some days, you 
must accompany me; we will travel together. 
Here is my hand on it.” 

“ With all my heart,” cried the Doctor, 
clasping his friend’s hand. “ We will penetrate 
into the castle, and summon the spirits which 
hover over the treasure.” 

“ We will first come to an understanding with 
the owner of the house. We shall then see what 
is to be done. Meanwhile let us keep the affair 
secret.” 

“That is right,” assented Fritz; and the 
friends descended, well satisfied, into the garden 
of Herr Hahn, and, reposing beneath the white 
muse, they consulted on the opening of the cam- 
paign. 

The imagination of the learned man was fast 
pent up by his methodical train of thought; 
but in the depths of his soul there was a rich 
and abundant stream from the secret source of 
all beauty and energy. Now a hole had been 
torn in the dam, and the flood poured itself 
joyfully over the seed. Ever did the wish for 
the mysterious manuscript return back to him. 
He saw before him the opening in the wall, and 
the first glimmer of light falling on the grey 
books in the hollow ; he saw the treasure in his 
hands as he drew it out, and would not part 
with it till he had deciphered the illegible pages. 
Blessed spirit of Brother Tobias Bachhuber ! if 
thou shouldst spend any of thy holiday-time in 
heaven in returning back to our poor earth, 
and if then at night thou glidest through the 
rooms of the old castle, guarding thy treasure 
and scaring inquisitive meddlers, oh ! nod kindly 
to the man who now approaches to bear thy 
secret to the light of day, for truly he seeks not 
honour nor gain for himself, but he conjures you, 
in the name of all that is good, to assist an 
honest man. 


CHAPTER III. 

Whoeveh on a certain sunny harvest morn- 
ing in August had looked down from a height 
in the direction of Rossau, would have observed 
something moving along the road between the 
meadows which extendi to the gates of the 
city. On closer observation the travellers might 
be perceived, one taller than the other, both 
wearing light summer dresses, the freshness of 


THE LOST MANUSCEIPT. 


IG 

which had been sullied by the stormy rain of 
the last few days. They had both leather 
travelling pouches, whicli hung by straps from 
their shoulders ; the taller one wore a broad- 
brimmed felt hat, the shorter one a straw hat. 

The travellers were evidently strangers, for 
they stopped sometimes to observe and enjoy the 
view of the valley and hills, which is seldom the 
case with those born in the country. The dis- 
trict had not yet been discovered by pleasure- 
seekers ; there were no smooth paths in the 
woods for the thin boots of the citizens ; even 
the carriage-road was not a v'ork of art, the 
water lay i)i the tracks made by the ^^■heels ; 
the sheep-bells and the axe of the wood-cutter 
only were heard by the dwellers of the neigh- 
bourhood, who were working in the fields or 
])assing on their business. And yet the country 
was not without charm : the outlines of the 
woody hills waved in bold lines, a stone quai’ry 
might be seen between the fields in the plain, or 
the head of a rock jutted out from amongst the 
trees. From the hiUs in the horizon a small 
brook wound its course to the distant river, 
bordered by strips of meadows, behind which 
the arable land i-an up to the woody heights. 
The lovely landscape looked bright in the 
morning sunshine. 

In the low country in front of the travellers 
rose to view the place called llossau, surrounded 
by hills, a little country town with two massive 
church towers and dark-tiled roofs, which pro- 
jected above the walls of the town like the backs 
of a herd of cattle which had crowded together 
for protection against a flock of wolves. 

The strangers looked from the height with 
warm interest on the chimneys and towers behind 
the old discoloured and patched walls which lay 
before them. In that place had once been pre- 
served a treasure, which if found again would 
occupy the whole civilised world, and excite 
hundreds to intellectual labour. The landscape 
looked thoroughly like other German landscapes, 
and the town was thoroughly like other little 
German towns ; and yet there was an attraction 
in the place which inspired a joyful hope in the 
travellers. Was it the bulb-like ornament that 
crowned the stout old tower ? or was it the arch 
of the gate which just veiled from the travellers 
in alluring darkness the entrance to the town ? 
or the stillness of the empty valley, in which the 
place lay without suburbs and outhouses, as the 
towns are portrayed on old maps ? or the herds 
of cattle which went out of the gate into the 
open space, and bounded merrily on the pasture 
ground ? or was it perhaps the keen morning air 
Avhich blew over the temples of the wanderers ? 
Loth felt that something remarkable and pro- 
mising hovered over the valley in which, as 
searchers of the past, they were entering. 

The travellers passed by the pasture ground ; 
the herdsmen looked with indiflerence at the 
strangers; but the cows placed themselves by 
the edge of the ditch and stared, while the 
young ones of the herd bellowed at them in- 
quiringly. They went through the dark arch of 
the gate and looked curiously along the streets. 
It was a poor little town, the main street alone 
wius paved, and that badly. Not far from the 
gate the sloping beam of a well projected high 
in the air, and from it hung a long pole with a 


pitcher. Few people were to be seen, those 
who were not working in the houses were occu- 
pied in the field ; for the straws which stuek in 
the stone crevices of the arch of the gate 
showed that harvest waggons were carrying the 
fruits of the fields to the farmyards of ihe 
citizens. Near many of the houses there were 
open wooden doors, through which one saw into 
the yard and barns, and over the dung heap 
on which small fowls were pecking. The last 
century had altered the place as little as 
possible, and the low houses still stood with 
their gables to the street ; instead of the coat of 
arms, there projected into the street the sign of 
the artizan, carved in tin or wood, and painted 
— such as a large wooden boot ; a griffin, which 
held enormous shears in its hand ; or a rampant 
lion, that offered a cracknel ; or, as the most 
beautiful masterpiece of all, a regular hexagon 
of coloured glass panes combined together. 

“ Much has been retained here,” said the Pro- 
fessor. 

The friends came to the market-place, an 
irregular space, the little houses of which were 
adorned with coloured paint. There on an in- 
significant building, a red dragon stood pro- 
minent with a curled tail, carved out of a board, 
and supported in the air on an iron pole. Upon 
it was painted, in ill-formed letters, “ The 
Dragon Inn.” 

“ See,” said Fritz, pointing to the Dragon, 
“the fancy of the artist has carved him with 
a pike’s head and thick teeth. The dragon is 
the oldest treasure pieserver of our legends. It 
is remarkable how firmly everywhere the re- 
collection of this legendary animal clings to the 
people. Pi*obably this signboard originates 
from some tradition of the place.” 

They ascended the white stone steps into the 
house, utterly unconscious that they had long 
been watched by sharp eyes. A citizen, who 
was taking his morning draught, exclaimed to 
the stout host, “ Who can these be? They do 
not look like commercial travellers ; perhaps 
one of them is the new pastor from Kirchdorfe.” 

“No pastor looks like that,” said the inn- 
keeper, decidedly, who knew men better ; “ they 
are strangers on foot, no carriage and no 
luggage.” 

The strangers entered, placed themselves at a 
red painted table, and ordered breakfast. “ A 
beautiful country, mine host,” began the Pro- 
fessor ; “ fine trees in the wood.” 

“ Trees enough,” answered the host. 

^ “The neighbourhood appears wealthy,” con- 
tinued the Professor. 

“ People complain that they do not earn 
enough,” replied the other. 

“ How many clergy have you in the place ? ” 

“ Two,” said the host, mor<‘ politely. “ Put 
the old pastor is dead ; meanwhile, there is a 
candidate here.” 

“ Is the other pastor at home ?” 

“ I do not know,” said the landlord. 

“ Have you a court of justice here ?” 

“ A magistrate of the place ; he is now at the 
office, — it is court day.” 

“ W^s there not in former times a monastery 
in the city ?” said the Doctor, taking up the 
examination. 

The citizen and the landlord looked at one 


THE JOUENEY SKYWARD. 


17 


another. “Tliat is long since/* replied the 
master of the inn. 

“ Does not the Castle of Bielstein lie in the 
neighbourhood here ?” inquired Fritz. 

^ Again the citizen and the landlord looked 
significantly at one another. 

“It lies somewhere here in the neighbour- 
hood,” answered the landlord, with reserve. 

“ How long does it take to go to the castle ?” 
asked the Professor, irritated by the short 
answers of the man. 

“ Do you wish to go there ?” inquired the 
landlord. “ Do you know the owner ?” 

“ No,” answered the Professor. 

“ Have you any business with him ?” 

“ That is our affair,” answ’^ered the Professor, 
shortly. 

“ The road goes through the wood, and takes 
half an hour — you cannot miss it;” and the 
landlord abruptly closed the conversation aud 
left the room. The citizen followed him. 

“ We have not learnt much,” said the 
Doctor, laughing. “ I hope the pastor and 
magistrate will be more open.” 

“ We will go direct to the place,” said the 
Professor, with decision. 

^leanwhile the landlord and citizen put their 
heads together. “ Whatever the strangers may 
be,” repeated the citizen, “they are not eccle- 
siastics, and they did not seem to care for the 
magistrate. Did you remark how they in- 
quired about the monastery and the castle ?” 
The landlord nodded. “I Avill tell you my 
suspicion,” continued the citizen, eagerly ; 
“they have not come here for nothing; they 
seek something.” 

“ What can they be seeking ?” asked the 
landlord, pondering, 

“ They are concealed Jesuits; they appear to 
me quite in that style.” 

“Now, if they wish to engage . in a quarrel 
with the people on the property, they have men 
enough there to settle them.** 

“I am intimate with the Inspector; I will 
give him a hint.** 

“ Do not mix yourself up with matters that 
do not concern you,** said the landlord, warn- 
ingly. But the citizen only squeezed tighter 
the boots he carried under his arm, and turned 
round the corner. 

Our two friends strode silently away from the 
churlishness of the Dragon. They imiuired of 
an old woman at the opposite gate of the city 
the way to the castle. Behind the toum the 
path rose from the gravel bed of the brook to 
the woody height. They entered a clearing of 
underwood, out of which rose aloft single high 
oaks. The rain of the last evening still hung in 
drops on the leaves — the deep green of summer 
shone in the sun*s rays — ^the song of birds and 
the tapping of the woodpecker above broke the 
stillness. 

“ This puts one in another tone of mind,** ex- 
claimed the Doctor, cheerfully. 

“ It requires very little to call forth fresh 
melody in a well-strung human heart, if fate 
has not played on it with too rough a hand. 
The stems of a few trees covered with hoary 
moss, a handful of blossoms on the tm-f, and a 
few notes from the throats of birds, are suf- 
ficient,** replied the philosophic Professor. 
2 


“ Hark ! that is no greeting of nature to the 
wanderer,** added he, listening attentively, as 
the sound of distant voices chanting a choral fell 
softly on the ear. The sound appeared to come 
from above the trees. 

“ Let us go higher up,** exclaimed the Doctor, 

“ to the mysterious place where old church- 
hymns murmur through the oaks.** 

They ascended the height some hundred steps, 
and found themselves on an open terrace, one 
side of which was surrounded by trees. In the 
clearing stood a small wooden church with a 
churchyard behind it ; on a massy block of rock 
rose a long old building, the roof of which was 
broken by many pointed gables. 

“That is in good keeping,** exclaimed the 
Professor, looking curiously over the little 
church up to the castle. 

A funeral hymn sounded clearer on the ear 
from the church. “Let us go in,” said the 
Doctor, pointing to the open door. 

“ To my mind it is more seemly to remain 
without,** answered the Professor; “it goes 
against me to intrude either on the pleasures or 
sorrows of strangers. The hymn is finished; 
now comes the pastor’s little discourse.” 

Fritz meanwhile had climbed the low stone 
waU and was examining the church. “ Look at 
the massive buttresses. It is the remains of an 
old building; they have repaired it with pine 
wood ; the tower and roof are black with age ; 
it would be worth our while to see the inside.” 

The Professor held in his hand the long shoot 
of a bramble bush which hung over the wall, 
looking with admiration at its white blossoms, 
and at the green and brown berries which grew 
in thick clusters. IKe sound of a man’s voice 
fell indistinctly on his ear, and he bent his head 
involuntarily to catch the words. 

“ Let iis hear,” he said at last, and entered 
the churchyard with his friend. They took off 
their hats and opened quietly the church door. 
It was a very small space ; the bricks of the 
old choir had been whitewashed ; the chancel, a 
gallery, and a few benches were of brown 
firwood. Before the altar lay open a child’s 
coffin, the form within was covered with flowers, 
beside it stood some country people in simple 
attire ; on the steps of the altar was an aged 
clergyman with white hair and a kindhearted 
face ; and at the head of the coffin the wife of a 
labourer, mother of the little one, sobbing. 
Near her stood a fine female figure in burgher’s 
dress ; she had taken off her hat, held her hands 
folded, and looked down on the child lying 
among the flowers. Thus she stood, motionless ; 
the sun fell obliquely on the waving hair and 
regular features of the young face. But more 
captivating than the tall figure and beautiful 
head was the expression of deep devotion which 
pervaded her whole countenance. The Professor 
involuntarily seized hold of his friend’s arm to 
detain him. The clergyman made his concluding 
prayer; the stately maiden inclined her head 
lower, then bent down once more to the little 
one, and wound her arm round the mother, who 
leant weeping on her comforter. Thus she 
stood, speaking gently in the ear of the mothei, 
whilst tears roUed down from her eyes. How 
spirit-like sounded the murmurs of that rich 
voice in the ear of her friend. Then the men 


18 


THE LOST MANUSCRIl^T. 


lifted the coffin from the ground and followed 
the clergyman, who led the way to the church- 
yard. Behind the coffin went rhe mother, her 
head still on the shoulder of her supporter. Tlie 
maiden passed by the strangers, gazing before 
her with an inspired look, whispering in her 
companion’s car words from the Bible : “ The 
Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. Let 
little children come unto me.” Her gentle 
accents reached even to the friends. The mother 
hung broken-hearted on the arm of the stranger, 
and as if borne along by the gentle tones, 
tottered to the grave. .Reverently did the 
friends close in with the procession. The coffin 
was lowered into the grave, the clergyman spoke 
the blessing, and each one present threw three 
handfuls of earth on the departed one. Then 
the country people separated, leaving a free 
passage for the mother and her companion. The 
latter gave her hand to the clergyman, and then 
conducted the mother slowly across the church- 
yard to the road which led to the castle. 

The friends followed at some distance, without 
looking at one another. The Professor passed 
his hand over his eyes. “ These things unman 
one,” he said, sorrowfully. 

“ As she stood at the altar,” exclaimed the 
Doctor, “ she seemed like a prophetess of the 
olden time, with an oaken crown on her head. 
She drew the poor w'oman on by her gentle 
accents. Certainly the w'ords were from our 
noble Bible ; but now I understand the signifi- 
cant meaning in ancient times of the word 
whisper, to which a magic pow'cr was ascribed. 
She took possession of the mourner body and 
sold, and her voice sank deep into my heart 
also. What was she, maiden or wife ? ” 

“ She is a maiden,” answ'ered the Professor, 
impressively. “ She dwells in the castle, and 
w'e shall meet her there. Let her go on, and 
W'e will wait at the foot of the rock.” 

They sat some time on a projecting stone. 
The Professor seemed never weary of contem- 
plating a tuft of moss ; he brushed it with his 
hand, laying it now on one side, now on the 
other. At last he rose up quickly. “Wliat- 
ever may come of it, let us go on.” 

They ascended the hiU some hundred steps. 
The landscape before them suddenly changed. 
On one side lay the castle with a wudled gate- 
way and a courtyard, in which stood large farm 
buildings ; before them, a wide plain of arable 
land sloj)cd down from the height into a rich 
valley. The lonely landscape of wood had dis- 
appeared ; around the wanderers was the active 
stir of daily life ; the wind waved through the 
sea of corn, harvest waggons 'were passing up 
the roads through the fields, the wdiip cracked, 
and the sheaves were swung by strong arms 
over the rails of the w'aggons. 

“ Hollo ! what are you seeking for here ? ” 
asked a deep bass voice behind -the strangers, in 
a tone of command. The friends turned quickly 
I’ound. Before the fannyard gate stood a 
])owerful, broad-shouldered man, with closely- 
cut hair, and a very energetic expression in his 
sunburnt face ; behind him stood farming officials 
and labourers, stretching their heads out with 
curiosity through the gate, and a large dog ran 
barking towards the strangers. “Back, Kero,” 
jailed the Proprietor, and whistled the dog to 


him, at the same time looking -with a cold, 
searching look at the strangers. 

“ Have I the honour of addressing the Pro- 
prietor of the place ?” inquired the Professor. 

“ I am that person, and w'ho are you ?” asked 
the Proprietor in return. 

The Professor gave their names, and that of 
the place from which they came. The host 
approached a step nearer, and examined the 
appearance of both from head to foot. 

“No Jesuits dw'ell there,” he said; “but if 
you come here 'to find some hidden treasure, 
your journey is useless ; you will find nothing.’^ 

The friends looked at one another ; they were 
near the house, but far from the goal. 

“ You make us feel,” answ'ered the Professor, 
“ that \ve have approached your dwelling with- 
out an introduction. Although you have already 
made a guess as to the object of our journey., 
yet I beg of you on that account to allow us au 
explanation before few'er witnesses.” 

The dignified demeanour of the Professor did 
not fail to have an eftect. “ If you really have 
business with me, it would be better certainly 
to settle it in the house. Follow me, gentle- 
men.” He lifted his cap a little, pointed wdth 
his hand to the gate, and went on in front. 

“ Nero, you brute, can’t you be quiet ?” 

The Professor and Doctor followed, and the 
farm officials and labourers and the growling dog 
closed in behind. Thus the strangers were con- 
ducted in unfriendly procession to the dwelling- 
house. In spite of their unpleasant position, 
they looked with curiosity at the great farm- 
yard, the W'ork going on in the barns, and a 
fiock of large geese which, disturbed by the 
party, straddled cackling across the road. Then 
their eyes fell upon the dwelling itself, the broad 
stone stops with benches on both sides, the 
vaulted door, and the moulded escutcheon on the 
keystone. They entered a roomy ludl, the Pro- 
prietor hung up his cap, laid hold with strong 
hand of the latch of the sitting-room door, and 
again made a movement of the hand, which was 
intended to be polite and to invite the strangers 
to enter. “ Now’ that w’e are alone,” he began, 
“ how can I serve you ? You have already been 
announced to me as tw’o treasure- seekers. If 
you are that, I must plainly begin by teUiug you 
that 1 will have nothing to say to such follies. 
For the rest, I will with pleasure make your 
acquaintance.” 

“ But we are not treasure-diggers,” rejoined 
the Professor ; “ and as we have kept the object 
of our journey a secret everywhere, w’e do not 
understand how you could hear anything so dis- 
torted concerning the occasion of our coming.” 

“ Ihe shoemaker of my bailiff brought him 
the intelligence wath tw’o- leagued boots ; he saw 
you in the town at the tavern, and conceived 
doubts from your questions.” 

“ He has exercised more ingenuity than was 
called for by our harmless questions,” answ’ercd 
the Professor. “ And yet he was not quite in 
the wrong.” 

“ Then there is something in it,” interrupted 
the Proprietor, gloomily ; “ in that case 1 must 
beg you, gentlemen, not to trouble yourselves or 
me further. I have no time for such foolery.” 

“ First of all, have the goodness to hear us 
before you withdi’aw your hospitality so curtly,” 


THE JOURNEY SKYWARD. 


19 


replied the Professor, calmly. “ We have come 
with no other aim than to impart to you some- 
thing, of the worth of which you may yourself 
decide. And not only we, but others, might re- 
proach you if you refused our request without 
taking it into consideration. The affair con- 
cerns you more than us.” 

“ Naturally,” said the host, “ one knows this 
style of speech.” 

“ Not quite,” continued the Professor ; “ there 
is a difference according to who uses it, and to 
serve what end.” 

” Well, then, in the devil’s name, speak, but be 
rational,” exclaimed the Proprietor, impatiently. 

“ Not till you have shown yourself ready,” 
continued the Professor, “to pay the attention 
the importance of the subject deserves. A short 
explanation will be necessary, and you have not 
even invited us to sit down.” 

“ Be seated,” replied the Proprietor, and 
pushed forward a chair. 

The Professor began : “ By accident I found 
a short time ago in a manuscript among other 
written records of the monks of Rossau, some 
observations which may be of the gi'eatest im- 
portance to the branch of learning to which 1 
devote myself.” 

“ And what is your branch of learning ?” 
interrupted the host, unmoved. 

1 am a philologist.” 

“ That means one who studies ancient 
languages ?” asked the Proprietor. 

“ It is so,” continued the Professor. “ It is 
stated by a monk, in the volume I have men- 
tioned, that about the year 1500 there existed in 
the monastery a valuable manuscript, containing 
a history by the Roman, Tacitus. The work of 
the renowned historian is only very imperfectly 
preserved to us in some other well-known 
manuscripts; and it appears that this, which 
was then extant in the monastery, contained his 
complete works. A second notice from the 
same book, in April, 1637, mentions that at that 
time the hist monk of the monastery, in the 
troublous war time, had concealed from the 
Swedes the church valuables and manuscripts in 
a hollow dry place in the house of Bielstein. 
These are the words I have found ; I have 
nothing further to impart to you. We have no 
doubt of the genuineness of both notices. I 
have brought with me an abstract of the passages 
touching it, and I am ready to submit the 
original to your inspection, or that of any 
competent judge whom you may choose. I 
will only add now that both I and my friend 
know well how unsatisfactory is the communi- 
cation we make to you, and how uncertain is 
the prospect that after two centuries any of the 
buried possessions of the monastery should be 
forthcoming. And yet we have employed a 
holiday to impart to you this discovery, even at 
the ])robable risk of a fruitless search. But we 
felt ourselves bound in duty to make this 
journey, not especially on your account: — 
althougli this manuscript if found would be of 
great value to you — but principally in the 
interest of learning, for in that point of view 
such a discovery would be invaluable.” 

The Proprietor had listened attentively, but 
he left untouched the paper which the Professor 
had laid on the table before him. Now he 


began : “ I perceive that you do not mean to 
deceive me, and that you tell me the truth u ith 
good intentions for all sides. I understard 
your explanation. Youi Latin I cannot read ; 
but that is not necessary, for, concerning this 
matter, I believe you. But,” he continued, 
laughing, “ there is one thing which the learncl 
gentlemen living so far away do not know, and 
that is, that this house has the misfortune to be 
considered throughout the whole country as a 
place in which the old monks have concealed 
treasures.** 

“ That was not, of course, unknown to us,” re- 
joined the Doctor, “ and it would not diminish 
the significance of these written records.** 

“Then you were greatly in error. It is 
surely clear that such a report, which has been 
believed in a country through many generations, 
has meanwhile stirred up persons who are 
superstitious and greedy of gain, to trace out 
these supposed treasures. This is an old strong- 
built house, but it would be stronger still if it 
did not show traces from cellar to roof that in 
former times holes have been made and the 
damage left unrepaired. Only a few years ago I 
had, at much cost and trouble, to introduce new 
beams into the roof, because roof and ceiling 
were sinking, and it appeared on examination 
that unscrupulous men had sawed ofi' a piece of 
the rafter, in order to grope into a corner of the 
roof. And I tell you frankly, that if I have met 
with anything disagreeable from the old house, 
in which for twenty years I have experienced 
happiness and misfortune, it has been from this 
troublesome report. Even now an investigation 
is being carried on in the town respecting a 
treasure-digger: the knave has lied in giving 
out that he could conjure up treasure from this 
hill. His accomplices are still being tracked. 
You may ascribe it to your questions in the 
town, that the people there, who are much oc- 
cupied with the deception, have considered you 
as assistants of the impostor. My rough greet- 
ing was also owing to this. I must make my 
excuses to you for it.” 

“ Then you will not agree,’* asked the Pro- 
fessor, dissatisfied, “ to make use of our commu- 
nication for further researches ?” 

“ No,’* replied the Proprietor, “ I will not 
make such a fool of myself. If your book 
mentions nothing more than what you have told 
me, this account is of little use. If the monks 
have concealed an^dhing here, it is a hundred to 
one that they have taken it away again in 
quieter times. And even if, contrary to all 
probability, the concealed objects should remain 
in their place — as since then some hundred 
years have passed — other hungry people would 
long ago have disinterred them. These are, 
forgive me, nursery stories, only fit for spinning 
rooms. I have a great repugnance to all these 
hobbies that necessitate rummaging the walls. 
The husbandman should dig in his fields and 
not in his house : his treasures lie under God’s 
sun.” 

Tlie cold demeanour of the man made the 
Professor’s blood boil. He with difficulty con- 
trolled his rising anger, and, approaching the 
window, looked out at a bevy of sparrows that 
were twittering angrily at one another. At 
host, turning round, he began : — 


20 


THE LOST MANUSCRIIT. 


"Tlie possessor of a house has the right of 
refusal. If you persist we shall certainly leave 
you with a feeling cf regret that you do not 
Know how to appreciate the possible importance 
of our communication. I have been unable to 
avoid this meeting, although it was well knowm 
to me how uncertain are the impressions formed 
in a first interview with strangers. Our story 
would perhaps have obtained greater considera- 
tion, if it had come to you through the medium 
of your Government, accompanied by a requisi- 
tion to eommence an active research.” 

“ Do you repent that you have not taken this 
course ?” asked the Proprietor, laughing. 

“ To speak frankly, No. 1 have no confidence 
in official protocols in such concerns.” 

“ Not have I,” answered the Proprietor, drily. 
“We live under a small Sovereign, but he is at 
a distance, and we are surrounded by foreign 
dominions. I have nothing to do with the Court ; 
years pass without my going there ; the Govern- 
ment does not torment us, and in my district I 
direct the police. If my Government were to 
attribute importance to your wishes, they would 
probably call for a report from me, and that 
would cost me a sheet of paper and an hour of 
writing. Perhaps, if you understood how to drum 
loud enough, they might also send a commission 
to my house. These would announce themselves 
to me about dinner time, and I should take 
them after dinner to the cellars ; they would, for 
form’s sake, knock a little upon the walls, and I 
meanwhile would have some bottles uncorked. 
At last a paper would be quickly WTitten, and 
the affair would be all settled. I am thankful 
that you have not adopted this method. l\Iore- 
over, I would defend my household rights, even 
against the Sovereign.” 

“ It is in vain, it appears to me, to speak to 
you of the value of the manuscript,” interposed 
the Professor, severely. 

“It would be lost trouble,” said the Pro- 
prietor. “It is questionable whether such a 
curiosity, even if found on my property, would 
be of essential value to myself. As to the value 
to your branch of learning, I only know it from 
your assurance ; but neither for myself nor for 
you will I stir a finger, because I do not believe 
that such a treasure is concealed on my pro- 
perty, and I do not choose to sacrifice myself 
for an improbability. This is my answer, Herr 
Professor.” 

The Professor stepped again silently to the 
window. Fritz, who in a state of quiet disgust 
had restrained himself, felt that it was time to 
put an end to the conversation, and rose to take 
his departure. “ So you have given us truly 
your last decision ? ” 

“ I regret that I can give you no other 
a^wer,” replied the Proprietor, looking with a 
kind of eompassion at the two strangers. “ I 
really am sorry that you have come so far out 
of your way. If you desii^e to see my farm, 
every door shall be opened to you. The walls of 
my house I open to no one. I am, moreover, 
ready to keep your communication a seci'et, and 
the more so, as this will be for my interest 
also.” 

“ Your refusal to allow any researches on your 
property makes any further secrecy unneces- 
answered the Doctor. “All that remains 


to my friend now is to give information of his 
discovery in some learned periodical. He will 
then have done his duty, and perhaps you will . 
be more favourable to others than to us.” 

The Proprietor sprang up. “ Confound you, 
Sir; what the devil do you mean? Will you 
tell your story to your colleagues ? Probably 
these will think the same as you.” 

“ Undoubtedly hundreds will view the mat- 
ter exactly as we do, and will form the same 
judgment as to your refusal,” exclaimed the 
Doctor. 

“ Sir, how you judge me is a matter of indif- 
ference to me ; I must beg of you not to paint 
me so black as your love of truth might lead 
you to do,” exclaimed the Proprietor, indig- 
nantly. “ But I see that all will be of no avail. 
Hang the monks and their treasure ! Now I 
may expect every Sunday and every hour of 
your vacation a visit from people of your sort 
— strange faces with spectacles and umbrellas, 
who will advance pretensions to creep under 
the wooden trestles of my dairy, and climb on 
to the ceiling of my children’s bedroom. To 
the devil with this Tacitus ! ” 

The Professor seized his hat. “ We beg to 
take leave of you,” and went towards the door. 

“ Stop, my good gentlemen,” cried the host, 
discomposed; “not so quick. I would rather 
have to do with you two than have an incessant 
pilgrimage of your colleagues. Wait a moment, 
and I will make you a proposal. You, your- 
selves, shall go tlu'ough my house, from garret 
to cellar : it is a severe tax upon me and my 
household, but I wiU make the sacrifice. If 
you fiud a place that you think suspicious, we 
will talk it over. On the other hand, promise 
me that you U’ill be silent with respect to the 
object of your visit here, before my people. ]My 
labourers are already sufficiently excited with- 
out this; if you encourage this unfortunate 
rumour, I cannot answer for it that the idea 
wiU not occur to my own people to break 
through the foundation-wall at a corner of the 
house. My house is open to you the whole day 
so long as you are my guests. But then, when 
you speak or write concerning the matter, I re- 
quire that you shall add that you have done all 
in your power to search through my house, but 
have found nothing. Will you enter into this 
compact with me ? ” 

The Doctor looked doubtfully at the Pro- 
fessor, to see w'hether the pride of his friend 
would stoop to such a condition. Contrary to 
his expectation, a ray of joy beamed over the 
countenance of the scholar, and he answered 
with eivility — 

“ You have mistaken us on one point. We 
do not desire to take away the concealed manu- 
script from your possession, but we are only 
come to win you, yourself, to make the experi- 
ment. That we, in a strange house, not know- 
ing the rooms, and unused to this kind of 
research, should find* nothing, is very clear to 
us. ^ If, however, we do not shun the laughable 
position in which you would place us, and 
accept your offer, we do it only in the hope 
that, during our stay here, we shall succeed in 
awakening in you a greater interest in the 
possible discovery.” 

The Proprietor made a negative motion of Ins 


THE OLD HOUSE. 


21 


head, shrugging his shoulders. “ The only in- 
terest I have is that silence should be kept on 
the matter as far as possible. You may do 
what you consider your duty. My business will 
hinder me from accompanying you. I transfer 
you over to my daughter.” 

He opened the door of the next room and 
called out, “ Use ! ” 

“ Here, father,” answered a rich-toned female 
voice. 

The Proprietor went into the next room. 
Come here. Use, I have to-day a special com- 
mission for you. There are two strange gentle- 
men within from one of the Universities. 
They seek for a book which is supposed to have 
been concealed in the olden time in our house. 
Conduct them through the house and open all 
the rooms to them.” 

“ But, father ” interposed the daughter. 

“ It matters not,” continued the Proprietor, 
‘it must be.” He approached closer to her 
and spoke in a low tone: “They are two 
scholars and are crack-brained ” — he pointed to 
his head. “ What they imagine is madness, 
and I only give in to them in order to have 
peace in the future. Be cautious, Ilsej I do 
not know the people. I must go to the farm, 
but will tell the Inspector to keep near the 
house. They appear to me two honourable 
fools, but the devil may woo.” 

“ I have no fear, father,” answered the daugh- 
ter ; “ the house is full of men ; we shall soon 
have done with them.” 

“ Take care that none of the maids are about, 
whilst the strangers are knocking on the walls 
and measuring. For the rest, they do not look 
to me as if they would find much, even though 
all the walls were built up with books. But 
you must not allow them to break through nr 
injure the walls.” 

“ I understand, father,” said the daughter. 
“ Do they remain to dinner ? ” 

“ Yes, your duty will extend till the evening. 
The housekeeper can superintend the dinner for 
you.” 

The friends heard through the door fragments 
of the conversation ; after the first words of 
instruction they went quickly to the window, 
and talked together aloud of the great ac- 
cumulation of straw on the top of the barn, 
which, according to the Doctor, was a stork's 
nest, whilst the PVofessor maintained that storks 
did not make their nests at such a height. But 
intermingled with this tidk the Professor said 
in a low tone: “It is unbecoming for us to 
continue in this humiliating position. But we 
can only convince the Proprietor by our per- 
severance.” 

“ Perhaps we may yet discover something,” 
said the Doctor. “I have some experience in 
working at walls. As a boy I found opportunity 
in the building of our house, to obtain a fail 
degree of knowledge in statics and climbing 
rafters. It is well that the tyrant leaves us 
alone. Do you entertain the daughter, I wiU 
meanwhile knock on the walls.” 

■\Vhoever lias followed an uncertain track 
knows full well how difficult on a near approach 
are things which at a distance appeared easy. 
Whilst at first the deceitful Goddess of Hope 
paints all favoui'able chances in bright colours. 


the very work of seeking raises doubt. The 
aDuring picture fades, despondency and weariness 
cast their shadows across it ; and what in the 
beginning was a happy venture becomes at last 
a mere effort of perseverance. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The Proprietor re-entered with his riding 
whip in his hand, and behind him the stately 
maiden of the churchyard. “Here is my 
daughter Elise ; she will represent me.” 

The friends bowed. It was the same beautiful 
countenance; but instead of exalted emotion, 
there now rested on her features a business-like 
dignity. She greeted the gentlemen calmly, 
and invited them to breakfast in the next room. 
She expressed herself simply, but again the 
friends listened with admiration to the deep 
tones of her melodious voice. 

“ Before you begin yoiu* search you must sit 
down to my table ; it is om* custom,” said the 
host, in better humour — on him also the pre- 
sence of the daughter had a softening influence. 
“We meet again at mid-day.” So saying, he 
went out of the door. 

The friends followed into the next room — a 
large dining room. There were chairs along 
the wall ; in the middle a long table, at the upper 
end of which three places were prepared. The 
maiden placed herself betwixt the gentle- 
men and offered them a cold repast. “ "V^en I 
saw you in the churchyard, I thought that you 
would visit my father ; the table has been pre- 
pared for you for some time.” The friends ate 
a little, and thanked her still more. 

“ I grieve that our coming should make such 
a demand on your time,” said the Professor, 
gravely. 

“ My task is easy,” answered the maiden. “ I 
fear that yours will give you more trouble. 
There are many sitting-rooms in the house 
as well as bedrooms and attics.” 

“ I have already told your father,” answered 
the Professor, laughing, “ that we do not make a 
point of examining the building like masons. 
Pray look upon us as curious people who only 
wish to see this remarkable house, in so far as 
it would otherwise be opened to guests.” 

“The house may be considered remarkable 
by strangers,” said Use : “ we like it because it 
is warm and roomy ; and when my father had 
been some years in possession of the estate, and 
had the means to do so, he had the house com- 
fortably arranged to please my deceased mother. 
We require plenty of space, as I have six 
younger brothers and sisters, and it is a largo 
property. The officials of the farm eat with us ; 
then there are the tutor and Mamselle, and in 
the servants’ haU there are also twenty people.” 

The Doctor regarded his neighbour with a 
look of disappointment. WTiat had become of 
the Sibyl ? She spoke sensibly and very like a 
citizen ; with her something might be done. 

“ As we are searching for hollow spaces,” ho 
began slyly, “we would rather trust to your 
guidance, if you would tell us whether there are 
any places in the wall, or on the ground, or 
anywhere here in the house, that you know o^ 
which could be discovered by knocking ? ” 


22 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


** Oh, there are plenty of such places ! ” an- 
swered Use. “ If, in my room, one knocks upon 
the wall at the back of the small cupboard, it is 
evident there is an empty space behind ; then 
there is the flagstone under the stairs, and many 
flags in the kitchen, and still more in other 
parts of the house, with respect to which every 
one has his conjectures.” 

Tlie Doctor had taken out his memorandum 
book and wrote down the suspicious places. 

The inspection of the house began. It was a 
fine old building ; the walls of the lower storey 
were so thick that the Doctor with extended 
arms could not enclose the whole depths of the 
window niches. He eagerly undertook the 
knocking and measuring the n ails. The cellars 
were for the most part hewn in the rock. In 
some places the rough stone still projected, and 
one could perceive where the wall rested on the 
rock. There were vast vaults, the small win- 
dows in the top of which were protected by 
strong iron bars, in ancient time a secure refuge 
against shot and fire in any assault of the enemy. 
All was dry and hollow, for the house was built 
as the Doctor had already before so acutely 
suggested in speaking of old buildings, with 
wdls external and internal, and between them 
rubbish and crumbled stone. Naturally, there- 
fore, the walls in many places sounded as hollow 
as a gourd. The Doctor knocked, and diligently 
took note. The knuckles of his hand became 
white and swelled, but the abundance of good 
places made him desponding. 

From the cellar they went to the ground- 
floor. In the kitchen, kettles and pots were 
steaming, and the women who were working 
looked with curiosity at the behaviour of the 
strangers, for the Doctor kept knocking with 
his heel on the stone floor, and fastened his hands 
on the blackened side- wall of the hearth. Be- 
hind were store-rooms and the visitors* rooms. 
In one of these they found a woman in mourn- 
ing, occupied in arranging the beds. It was the 
mother from the churchyard. She approached 
the strangers, and thanked them for having 
helped to pay the last honours to her child. The 
friends spoke kindly to her ; she wiped her eyes 
with her apron and returned to her work. 

“ I begged her to remain at home to day,** 
said Use, “ but she would not. It would, she 
thought, be good for her to have something to do, 
and we should need her work as you were com- 
ing to us.** 

It pleased our learned men to see that by the 
female members of the house, at least, they 
were considered as guests entitled to remain. 

They went over the other side of the ground- 
floor, and examined once more the simple room 
in which they had been first received. Behind 
it lay the private room of the Proprietor, a small 
unadorned chamber, in which were a press with 
shooting and riding gear, and a shelf for deeds 
and books ; over the bed hung a sword and 
pistols, and on the VTiting table there was a 
small model of a machine, and samples of corn 
and seeds in small bags ; against the wall stood, 
in military array, gigantic water-books, Russian 
leather boots, and top-boots for riding ; and at 
the further corner half boots of calf skin. In the 
next room they heard a man*s voice, and the 
answers of childi'en ji regular succession. 


‘‘ That is the school-room,** said Use, smiling. 
As the door opened, both solo and chorus stopped. 
The teacher, a student with a sensible counte- 
nance, rose to answer tlie greeting of the ne%v- 
comers. The children stared with astonishment 
at the unexpected interruption. Three boys and 
three girls sat at two tables, a vigorous fair- 
haired race. “ Those are Clara, Luise, Rickchen, 
Hans, Ernest, and Franz.** 

Clara, a girl of fourteen, almost grown up, 
and a youthful picture of her sister, rose with a 
courtesy. Hans, a sturdy boy of twelve years 
old, made an ineflectual attempt at a bow. The 
others remained standing straight, staring 
fixedly at the strangers, and then, as if having 
sufficiently performed a tiresome duty, dropped 
down into their places. Only the little Franz, 
a rosy-cheeked, curly-headed urchin of seven 
years old, remained sitting grimly over his 
troublesome task, and made use of the interrup- 
tion to collect quickly out of his book something 
for his next answer. Use stroked his hair, 
and asked the tutor, “What has he done to- 
day ?** 

“ He has done a lesson.** 

“ It is too difficult,** cried Franz, bitterly. 

The Professor begged the tutor not to disturb 
himself, and the progress recommenced through 
the bedroom of the boys, and of the tutor, and 
again through the store-rooms, the ironing and 
wardrobe rooms. The Doctor had long since 
put his memorandum book in his pocket. 

They returned to the entrance hall, where 
Use pointed out the stone slab on the step. The 
Doctor knelt down again, tried it, and said 
despondingly, “ Hollow, again.** Use ascended 
the staircase. 

“ Up here, I and the girls dwell.** 

“ Here, then, our curiosity comes to an end,** 
replied the Professor, considerately; “you see 
even my friend abandons the search.** 

“ But there is a fine prospect above ; this, at 
least, you must look at,” said their guide. She 
opened a door. “ This is my room.** The friends 
stood on the threshold. “ Come in,** said Use, 
unembarrassed. “From this window you see 
the road by which you came to us.** 

With great hesitation did these men of re- 
fined feelings approach nearer. This also wtis 
an unpretending room; there was not even a 
sofa in it. The walls were painted blue ; at the 
window was a work-table and some flowers ; in a 
corner was the bed concealed by white curtains. 

The friends walked immediately to the window, 
and looking out saw the little churchyard and 
the tops of the oaks, the small town in the 
valley, and the rows of trees behind, which ran 
in curved lines up the height where the prospect 
terminated. The Professor fixed his eyes on 
the old wooden church. How much in a few 
hours had his tone of mind altered ! Glad 
expectation was followed by the seeming frus- 
tration of their hopes, and yet this disappoint- 
ment was succeeded by a pleasing repose. 

“ That is our road into the external world,** 
pointed out Use ; “ we often look in that direc- 
tion when father has been on his travels and we 
are expecting him, or when we hope for some 
good news by the postman. And when fre- 
quently our brother Franz declares he wiU go 
into the world away from his father and family. 


THE OLD HOUSE. 


23 


he thinks that the roads there will always look 
like a footpath bordered with willow trees.” 

“Is Franz the darling?” asked the Professor. 

“ He is my nestling ; we lost our good mother 
whilst he still wore baby’s caps. The poor 
child never knew his mother ; and once when 
he dreamt of her, the other children maintain 
that he had changed her into me, for she wore 
my dress and my straw hat. This is the cup- 
board in the wall,” she said sorrowfully, point- 
ing to a wooden door. The friends followed in 
silence, without looking at the cupboard. She 
stopped before the adjoining room, and opened 
the door : “ This was my mother’s room, it is 
unaltered, just as she left it; our father gene- 
rally remains some time there on Sundays.” 

“ We cannot allow you to lead us any further,” 
said the Professor. “ I cannot tell you how 
painful I feel our position to be with respect to 
you. Forgive us this indelicate 'intrusion into 
your privacy.” 

“ If you do not wish to see the house fuither,” 
answered Use, with a look of gratitude, “ I will 
gladly take you into our garden, and through 
the farmyard. Father will not be pleased if I 
withhold anything fx’om you.” 

A back door led from the hall into the 
garden; the beds were edged with box, and 
filled with summer flowers — the old native in- 
habitants of our gardens. Vines climbed up 
the house, as far as the windows of the upper 
story, and the green grapes peeped everywhere 
from out the bright foliage. An evergreen 
hedge separated the flower - beds from the 
kitchen -garden, where, besides vegetables, there 
were hops climbing up high poles. Further on 
a large orchard, with fresh turf, sloped down 
into a valley. There was nothing remarkable 
to be seen here ; the flower-beds were in straight 
lines ; the fruit trees stood in rows ; the vener- 
able box and hedge were cut level, and without 
gaps. The friends looked back constantly over 
beds and flowers to the house, and admired the 
brown walls showing through the soft foliage of 
the vine, as well as the stonework of the windows 
and gables. 

“In the time of our forefathers it was a 
Prince’s residence,” explained Use, “and they 
came here then every year to shoot. But now 
tliere is nothing princely but the dark wood 
behind, where there is a shooting box, and the 
head forester resides in it. Our Prince seldom 
comes into the district. It is a long time since 
we have seen our dear Sovereign, and we live 
like poor orphans.” 

“ Is he considered a good Sovereign ? ” asked 
the Professor. 

“ We do not know much of him ; but we 
believe that he is good. Some years past, when 
I was yet a child, he once breakfasted in our 
house, because there was no convenient place at 
Ilossau. Then I was astonished that he wore 
no red mantle ; and he stroked me on the head, 
and he gave me the good advice to grow, which 
I have since honestly followed. It is said that 
he will come again this year to shoot. If he 
comes again to us the old house must put on its 
best attire, and there will be hot cheeks in the 
kitchen.” 

Whilst they were walking peaceably among 
the fruit trees, a clear-toned bell sounded from 


the farmyard. “ That is the warning for 
dinner,” said Use. “ I will take you to your 
room ; the maid wiU call you when it is on the 
table.” 

The friends found their leather bags in the 
visitors’ room, and were shortly after invited by 
a gentle knock at the door, and conducted into 
the dining-room. Tliere the Proprietor was 
awaiting them, together with half-a-dozen sun- 
burnt officials of the farm, the ManiseUe, the 
tutor, and the children. Wlien they entered, 
the Proprietor spoke to his daughter in a 
window-niche; the daughter probably gave a 
favourable report of them, for he came towards 
them with unclouded countenance, and said 
shortly, “ I hope you will put up with our faie.’* 
He then introduced the strangers to those pre- 
sent, culling them by their names, and adding, 
“ two learned gentlemen from the University.” 
Everyone stood behind his chair, placed accord- 
ing to his station and age. The Proprietor 
took the head of the table, next him Use ; on 
the other side tbe Professor and Doctor; then 
on both sides the farm officials, after them, the 
MamseUe and the maidens, the tutor and the 
boys. The little Franz, at the lower end of the 
table, approached his plate, folded his hands 
over his head, and intoned a short grace. 
Then all the chairs were drawn forward at the 
same moment, and two maidens in the dress of 
the country brought in the dishes. It was a 
simple meal ; a bottle of wine was placed be- 
tween the strangers, the household drank only 
beer. 

Silently and zealously did each one do his 
work ; there was conversation only at the upper 
end of the table. The friends talked with the 
Proprietor of their pleasure in seeing the house 
and all around it; and the host laughed 
ironically when the Doctor extolled the thick 
walls of the house. Then the talk rambled on 
to the surrounding country, and the dialect and 
character of the country people. 

“It has struck me again to-day,” said the 
Professor, “ how suspiciously the country people 
here observe us citizens. They regard our 
language, manners, and habits as those of 
another race ; and when I see what the 
agricultui’al labourer has in common with the so- 
called educated classes, I feel painfully that it is 
much too little.” 

“ And whose fault is it,” retorted the host, 
“ but that of the educated classes ? Do not take 
it amiss if I tell you, as a simple man, that this 
high cultivation pleases me as little as the 
ignorance and stolidness which surprises you 
in our country people. You yourselves, for 
example, take a distant journey, in order to find 
an old forgotten manuscript which was written 
by an educated man in a nation that has passed 
away. But I ask what have millions of men, 
who speak the same language as you, are of the 
same race, and live near you, gained by all the 
learning that you have acquired for yourselves 
and small nuinbem of wealthy people of leisure ? 
Wlien you speak to my labourers, they do not 
understand you. If you wished to speak to 
them of your learning, my farming men would 
stand before you like negroes. Is that a sound 
state of things ? I tell you, so long as this lasts, 
we are not a well-conditioned people.*’ 


24 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


If your words are meant as a reproach on 
my vocation,” answered the Professor, “ you are 
unjust; for we are now actively employed in 
making the discoveries of the learned accessible 
to the people. That much more should be done 
in this direction, I do not deny. But at all 
periods serious scientific investigations, even 
when comprehensible to a very small circle, 
have exercised an invisible infiuence on the souls 
and lives of the collective people. And let me 
use an old simile. Science is like a great fire, 
which must be incessantly maintained in a 
nation, because flint and steel are unknown to 
them. I am one of those whose duty it is to 
throw constantly new logs into the great fire. 
It is the task of others to bear the holy flame 
throughout the country, to the villages and 
cottages. Every one who labours in the prepa- 
ration of the light, has his rights, and no one 
should think meanly of another.” 

" There is some truth in that,” said the host, 
thoughtfully. 

If the great fire does not burn,” continued 
the Professor, “ the single flames C9uld not be 
spread. And, believe me, what most strengthens 
and elevates an honourable man of learning in 
the most difficult investigations, is the unshaken 
conviction, which is confirmed by long ex- 
perience, that his labours will in the end conduce 
to the benefit of mankind. They do not always 
help to invent new machines nor discover new 
plants for cultivation, but they are not the less 
effective for all, when they teach what is true 
and untrue, beautiful and ugly, good and bad. 
In this sense they make millions freer, and 
therefore better.” 

“ I see at least by your words,” said the host, 
** that you hold your vocation in high esteem ; 
and I like that, for it is the characteristic of an 
honest man.” 

This conversation produced a pleasant frame 
of mind in both men. The Inspector rose, and 
in a moment all the chairs of the farm digni- 
taries were pushed hack, and the children and 
most of the dinner party left the room. Only 
the host. Use, and the guests sat together for 
some minutes longer in quiet converse. Then 
they went into the next room, where coffee was 
prepared. Use poured it out, whilst the Pro- 
prietor from his seat scrutinized the unexpected 
guests. 

The Professor set the empty cup down and 
began : “ Our task here is ended, and we have 
to thank you for a hospitable reception. But I 
do not like to part without once more remind- 
ing you—” 

“ Why should you go ? ” interrupted the Pro- 
prietor. “ You have had a long journey to- 
day ; you will not find either in the town or in 
the villages near any tolerable lodging, and, in 
the pressure of the harvest, perhaps not even a 
conveyance. Pray be contented to pass the 
night here ; we have, besides, to resume our 
conversation of this morning,” he added, good- 
humouredly, “ and I am anxious to come to a 
good understanding before we part. Will you 
aecompany me for a while into the field, where 
my presence is of course required. When I 
ride to the distant part of the farm. Use will 
take my place. In the evening we will have a 
little rational talk together.” 


The friends readily agreed to this proposal. 
They walked together in great harmony through 
the harvest field. The Professor rejoiced in 
seeing the large ears of a new kind of barley, 
udiich stood as thick as reeds before him, and 
the Proprietor spoke cautiously of this new 
species of corn of the German agriculturist. 
They remained standing where the labourers 
were busy. Then the person who acted as 
overseer of the work came to the Proprietor 
and gave him a report, upon which they crossed 
the stubble to the sheaves. The eye of the 
master glanced quickly over the collectt'd 
shocks, the industrious people, and the pa- 
tient horses in the harvest waggons ; the 
friends observed with interest the intercourse 
between the master of the property and his 
subordinates and labourers; the short orders 
and pertinent answers ; the zeal and cheerful 
aspect of the working people when they an- 
nounced the number of the sheaves, all well- 
behaved, hard-working, and acting in unison. 
They returned with a feeling of respect for the 
man who ruled his little kingdom so firmly. 
On their way back they stopped to look at the 
foals which were gambolling about in a meadow 
behind the barns, and when the Doctor praised, 
above all, two galloping browns, it appeared 
that he had admired the best horses, and the 
Proprietor smiled upon him benignantly. At 
the entrance of the farmyard a groom brought 
a riding-horse, a powerful black, with strong 
limbs and broad chest; the Doctor stroked the 
horse’s neck, and the Proprietor examined the 
straps. “I am a heavy rider,” he said, “and 
need a strong animal.” He swung himself 
heavily into the saddle, arid, taking off his cap, 
said, “We meet again this evening.” And 
stately did horse and rider look, as they trotted 
along the road through the field. 

“The young lady expects you,” said the 
groom ; “ shall I take you to her ?” 

“ Have we made progress or not ? ” asked the 
Doctor, laughing, and laying hold of his friend’s 
arm. 

“ A struggle has begun,” answered the friend 
seriously, “ and who can say what will be the 
result ?” 

Use was sitting in an arbour of honeysuckle 
in the garden, surrounded by the children. It 
was a sight pleasant to the heart to see the 
j'oung fair-haired family together. The girls 
sat by their sister ; the boys ran playing around 
the arbour, with their afternoon luncheon in their 
hands. Seven fresh, well-formed faces, as like 
each other as blossoms on the same tree, yet 
each developing itself at a different period ot 
life, from Franz, whose round child’s head re- 
sembled a blooming bud, to the beautiful, full- 
blown! face and figure that sat in the centre, 
brightly lighted up by the glancing rays of the 
sun. Again were the hearts of the friends 
excited by the appearance of the maiden and the 
sound of her voice, as she tenderly scolded the 
little Franz because he had knocked the bread 
and butter out of the hands of his brother. 
Again did the children stare suspiciously at the 
strangers, but the Doctor dispensed wnth the 
ceremonial of first acquaintance in taking Franz 
by the logs and placing him on his shoulders, 
while he seated himself with his rider in the 


THE OLD HOUSE. 


25 


arbour. The little lad sat for some minutes on 
his elevation quite surprised, and the children 
laughed aloud at his round eyes looking so 
frightened at the stranger’s head between his 
little legs. But the laughter of the others gave 
him courage, and he began to pummel lustily 
with his legs, and to brandish his bread triumph* 
antly round the locks of the stranger. Thus 
the acquaintance was made; a few minutes 
after, the Doctor went with the children through 
the garden, allowing himself to bo chased, and 
seeking to catch the little shouters betwixt the 
flower-beds. 

“ If you like, we will go where you can have 
the best view of our house,” said Use, to the 
Professor. 

They walked, with the children chattering 
round them, along the road that led to the 
church. A winding footpath ran down to the 
bottom, where a strip of meadow bordered the 
bubbling brook. From this deep deU they as- 
cended some hundred steps. Before them rose 
from the copse a huge rock ; they passed round 
it and stopd by a stone grotto. The rock formed 
the portal and walls of a cave, which penetrated 
about ten paces into the hill. The ground was 
smooth, covered with white sand; sweet briar 
and wild roses hung dowm over the entrance ; in 
the midst of them a large bush of willow-rose 
had located itself ; it hung with its thick blossoms 
like a plume of red feathers over the rocky arch 
of the grotto. The trace of an old wall on one 
side showed that the cave had once been a refuge 
either for the oppressed or the lawless ; at the 
entrance lay a stone, the upper surface of which 
had been smoothed for a seat ; in the obsem’e 
light of the background stood a stone bench. 

“ There is our house,” said Use, pointing over 
the valley to the height where the gables rose 
behiiid the fruit trees of the garden. “ It is so 
near that a loud call would be heard here.” 

The friends looked from the twilight of the 
cave into the bright light of day, on the stone 
house and the trees which stood below it. 

“ All is quiet in the wood,” continued Use ; 

even the voice of the birds has ceased ; they 
have left their nests for the harvest fields, where 
they congregate in flocks.” 

“ I hear a gentle murmur, like the gurgling 
of water,” said the Professor. 

“ A stream runs over the stones below,” ex- 
plained Use. “Now it is scanty, but in the 
spring much water collects from the hills. 
Then the sound of the rushing water becomes 
loud, and the brook courses wildly over the 
stones; it covers the meadows below, fills the 
whole valley, and rises up to the copse-wood. 
But in warm weather this is a pleasant resting- 
place for us all. When my father bought the 
property, the cave was overgrown, the entrance 
choked up with stones and eai’th, and it was the 
abode of owls. He had it opened and cleared 
out.” 

The Professor examined the cave with 
curiosity, and struck the red rock with his 
stick. Use standing apart watched him with 
troubled look. “Now he is beginning his 
search,” she thought. 

“ It is all old stone,” she exclaimed. 

The Doctor had been clambering outside the 
cave with the childi-cn. He now freed himself 


from Hans, who had just confided to him that 
there was among the thick alder bushes the 
empty nest of a mountain titmouse. 

“This must be a wonderful place for the 
legends of the country,” he exclaimed, with 
delight; “there cannot be a more charming 
home for the spirits of the valley.” 

People talk absurd stuff about it,” rejoined 
Use, with a tone of disapprobation. “ Tliey say 
that little dwarfs dweU here, and that their 
footsteps can be perceived in the sand, yet the 
sand was first brought here by my father. 
Nevertheless, the people are frightened, and 
when evening comes the women and children of 
the labourers do not like to pass it. But they 
conceal this fi*om us, as my father cannot bear 
superstition.” 

“ The dwarfs are evidently not in favour wnth 
you,” answered the Doctor. 

“ As there are none, we ought not to believe 
in them,” replied Use, eagerly. “ Men ought 
to believe what the Bible teaches ; not in wild 
beings that, as they say in the village, fly 
through the wood in the night. Lately an old 
woman was ill in a neighbouring village, no one 
would bring her any food, and they disgrace- 
fully rejoiced in her sickness, because they 
thought the poor woman could change herself 
into a black cat, and injure the cattle. When 
we first heard of it, the woman was in danger of 
dying of starvation. This idle talk is therefore 
wicked.” 

The Doctor had meanwhile noted down the 
dwarfs in his tablets ; but he looked dissatisfied 
at Use, who, speaking from the background of 
the cave, standing in the broken glimmer be- 
twixt the rock and the daylight, resembled a 
legendary figure. 

“You do not object to sly Jacob, who de- 
ceived his blind father by putting kid skins on 
his aimis; but you consider our snow witches 
hateful.” 

He put his tablets up again, and went with 
Hans to the titmouse. 

The Pi’ofessor had observed with amusement 
the secret vexation of his friend ; but Use 
tui ned to him, saying ; 

“ I am surprised that your friend takes note of 
such stories ; it is not right, such things should 
be forgotten.” 

“ You know that he himself does not believe 
in them,” answered the Professor, in excuse. 
“ What he searches for are only the traditions 
of the people. For these legends originated in 
a time when our whole nation believed in these 
spirits, as they do now the teaching of the Bible. 
He collects these reminiscences, in order to 
ascertain what was the faith and poetry of our 
ancestors.” 

The maiden was silent. Then after a time 
she said : 

“This also, then, is connected with your 
labours.” 

“ It is so,” replied the Professor. 

“ It is good to listen to you,” continued Use, 
** for your mode of speech is different from ours. 
Formerly when it was said of any one, he speaks 
like a book, I thought it was a reproach ; but 
there is no doubt it is the right way of speaking, 
and it gives one pleasure to listen.” 

Thus saying, with her large open eyes she 


26 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


looked frcm the interior of the grotto at the 
scholar, who stood in the entrance leaning 
against a stone, brightly lighted up by the rays 
of the sun. 

“There are, however, many books that talk 
badly,” ans-ivered the Professor, smiling ; “ and 
nothing tires one so much as lengthy book wis- 
dom from living mouths.” 

“ Yes, yes,” acquiesced Use. “ Wo have an 
acquaintance, a learned woman, Frau Rollmaus, 
wife of the Crowm Bailiff. When she visits us 
on Sundays, she places herself on the sofa, and 
begins a discourse with my father. He cannot 
escape her, turn which way he will, she knows 
how to pin him do\vn by talking about the 
English and Circassians, comets and poets. But 
the children discovered she had a lexicon for con- 
versation, from which she gathers it aU; and 
wdicn anything happens in the country, or 
the new^spapers make a noise about anything, 
she reads in the lexicon wdiat bears upon 
it. We have procured the same book, and 
when her visit is impending, we think over what 
subject is then uppermost. Then the children 
look out and read this beforehand; and our 
father also listens and looks himself at the book, 
and the next day the children are delighted that 
father vanquishes the Frau by means of her owm 
book ; for our book is a newer edition, and has 
new events in it of which she knows little.” 

“ So Sunday is the time when we can gain 
honour here,” said the Professor. 

“ In wdnter we meet often during the w^eek,” 
continued Use. “ But there is not much inter- 
course in the neighbourhood ; and if we some- 
times chance to have a visitor wdio leaves us 
some pleasant thoughts behind, we are thankful, 
and preserve them faithfully.” 

“ Yet the best thoughts are what come to men 
from their own exertions,” said the Professor, 
kindly. “ The little that I have seen on the 
property here tells me how beautifully life can 
thrive, even when far removed from the noisy 
bustle of the world.” 

“ That was a friendly speech,” exclaimed Use. 
“ But we are not lonely here ; and we do interest 
ourselves about the country people, and about 
the great world. When the neighbouring pro- 
prietors come to visit, not a word is spoken 
about the farm, and amusing subjects are talked 
of. Then there is our dear Herr Pastor, who 
tells us about things in foreign parts, and reads 
with us the newspapers that are taken in by my 
father. And when there are applications in 
them for contributions to serve a good object, 
the children are open handed, and each gives 
his mite from his savings, but our father gives 
abundantly. And Hans, as the eldest, collects, 
and has the right to pack up the money, and in 
the accompanying letter he sets down the first 
letter of the name of each that has given. Then 
afterwards there comes a printed receipt, when 
each looks for his own letter of the alphabet. 
Often a wrong one has been printed, and this 
rexes the children.” 

From the distance they heard the cries and 
laughter of the children, who were returning 
with the Doctor from their excursion. The 
maiden rose, the Professor approached her, and 
said with warm feeling : 

“ Wlicuever my thoughts revert to this day. 


it will be with a feeling of heartfelt gratitude 
for the manner in which you have so honestly 
spoken to a stranger of your happy life.” 

Use looked at him with innocent confidence. 

“ You are not a stranger to me ; I saw you at 
the child’s grave.” 

The joyous troop surrounded them both, and 
they proceeded further into the valley. 

It was evening when they returned to the 
house, where the Proprietor was already awaiting 
them. After supper the elders passed another 
hour together. The strangers gave an account 
of their tour, and told the last news from the 
world; and then there was conversation on 
politics, and Use rejoiced that her father and 
the strangers agreed so well on the subject. 
When the cuckoo on the house clock proclaimed 
that it was ten, they separated after a friendly 
good-night. 

The housemaid lighted the strangers to their 
sleeping-room. Use sat on a chair with her 
hands folded on her lap, looking silently before 
her. After a short time the Proprietor came 
from his room and took the bedroom candle from 
the table. 

“ What, still up Use ? How do the strangers 
please you ?” 

“ Well, father,” said the maiden, gently. 

“ They are not such simpletons as they look,” 
said the host, pacing to and fro. “ Wliat he 
said of the great fire was right,” he repeated, 
“ and that about our little governments was also 
right. The younger would be a good school- 
master ; and as for the tall one, by heaven it is 
a shame that he has not worn waterboots these 
four years; he would be a clever inspector. 
Good-night, Use.” 

“ Good- night, father.” The daughter rose 
and followed her father to the door. “ Do the 
strangers remain here to-morrow, father ?” 

“ Hum,” said the host, meditating. “ They 
^vill remain over midday at all events; I will 
show them over the farm. Take care to have 
something fitting for dinner.” . 

“ Father, the Professor has never in his life 
eaten a sucking pig,” said the daughter. 

“ Use, what are you thinking of ? My pig for 
the sake of Tacitus !” exclaimed the Proprietor. 
“ No, I cannot stand that ; be content with 
your poultry ! Stop ! One more thing, reach me 
the volume from the bookshelf, I will for once 
read something about the follow.” 

“ Here, father ; I know where it is.” 

“ Look you,” said the father, “ I am acting 
the part of Frau Rollmaus. Good-night.” 

The Doctor looked through the window into 
the dark court. Sleep and peace lay over the 
wide space ; from a distance sounded the tread 
of the watchman who went his rounds through 
the homestead, and then the suppressed howl of 
the farm dog. 

“ Here we are,” he said, at last, “ two genuine 
adventurers in the enemy’s fortress. Whether 
we shall carry anything away from it, is very 
doubtful,” he continued, looking significantly 
at his friend, with a smile. 

“ It is doubtful,” said the Professor, measur- 
ing the room with long strides. 

“ WTiat is the matter with you, Felix?” 
asked Fritz, anxiously, after a pause ; ” you are 
vei’y absent, which is not your usual style.” 


AMONG THE HERDS AND SHEAVES. 


27 


The Professor stood still. 

I have uothing to tell you. I have strong 
but confused feelings, which I seek to command. 
I fear this day I have received an impression 
against which a sensible man ought to guard 
himself. Ask me nothing further, Fritz,” he 
continued, pressing his hand vehemently. “ I do 
not feel unhappy.” 

Fritz, deeply troubled, placed himself on his 
bed, and sought for the boot-jack. 

“ How does our host please you ? ” he asked, 
in a low tone ; and in order to appear uncon- 
cerned, rattled his boot against the wood. 

“A worthy man,” answered the Professor, 
again stopping, “ but his character is different 
to what we are accustomed.” 

" He is of old Saxon origin,” the Doctor pro- 
ceeded, “broad shoulders, giant height, open 
countenance, solidity in every movement. The 
children also are of the same nature,” he con- 
tinued ; “ the daughter is somewhat of a Thus- 
nelda.” 

“The similitude does not fit,” rejoined the 
Professor, roughly, continuing his walk. 

Fritz drew off the second toot in slightly dis- 
cordant mood. 

“ How does the eldest boy please you ? He 
has the bright hair of his sister.^^ 

“ It cannot be compared,” said the Professor, 
again laconically. 

Fritz placed both boots before the bed, and 
himself upon it, and said with decision : 

“ I am ready to respect your humour, even 
when I cannot quite understand it ; but I beg 
you to take into consideration that we have 
forced ourselves on their hospitality, and that 
we ought not to take advantage of it beyond 
to-morrow morning.” 

“ Fritz,” cried the Professor, with deep feel- 
ing, “you are my tender dear friend, have 
patience with me to-day.” So saying, he 
turned round, and breaking off his speech, ap- 
proached the w'indow. 

Fritz was almost beside himself with anxiety. 
This noble man, so confident in all he wrote, so 
full of deliberation, and so firm in decision, 
even with regard to the darkest passages — and 
now some emotion was working in him w'hich 
shook his whole being. How could this man 
be so disturbed ? He could look back with 
majestic clearness on a past of many thousand 
years, and now he w^as standing at a wdndow 
looking at a cow stable, and something like a 
sigh sounded through the room. And wdiat 
w'as to come of it ? These thoughts revolved in- 
cessantly in the Doctor’s mind. 

Long did the Professor pace up and dowm the 
room ; Fritz feigned to sleep, but was always 
peeping from under the bedclothes at his excited 
friend. At last the Professor extinguished the 
light and threw himself on his bed. Soon his 
deep breathing showed that beneficent nature 
had softened the pulses of that beating heart. 
But the Doctor’s anxiety held its ground more 
pertinaciously. From time to time he raised 
ins head from his pillow, searched for his spec- 
tacles on the nearest chair, without w'hlch he 
could not see the Professor, and spied through 
them at the other bed, again took off his spec- 
tacles, and lay down on the pillow with a gentle 
sigh. This act of friendship he repeated many 


times, till at last he fell into a deep sleep, 
shortly before the sparrow's sang their morning 
song in the vine arbour. 


CHAPTER V. 

The friends on aw'akening heard the clock or 
the farmyard striking, the w'aggons rolling be- 
fore the W'indow, and the bells of the herds 
tinkling. For a moment they looked bewildered 
at the wall of the strange room, and through 
the window on the sunny garden. Whilst the 
Doctor wrote his memorandums and packed up 
his bundle, the Professor w'ulked out. The 
daily w'ork had long begun; the men w’ith 
their teams were gone to the field ; the bailiff 
hastened busily about the open barns ; encircled 
by the dogs the sheep thronged bleating befoio 
the stable. 

The landscape shone in the light o'’ a cloud- 
less sky. The mist hovered over the earth, 
subduing the clear light of the morning sun, 
blending it w'ith a delicate grey. The houses 
and trees still cast long shadow's, the coolness 
of the dew'y night still lingered in shady places, 
and the light breeze fanned the cheeks of the 
learned man, now w'ith the warmth of the early 
daylight, now with the refreshing breath of 
night. 

He walked about the buildings and the farm- 
yard in order to make himself intimate w'ith 
the place, of w’hich from henceforth he w'as to 
have in his soul mingled recollections. The 
pei'sons who dwelt here hsvd hesitatingly dis- 
closed their life to him, and much in this simple 
pastoral existence appeared to him pleasing and 
desirable. He felt keenly how w'orthily and 
happily men can live whose ow'n being is so 
firmly interwoven with nature and the primitive 
necessities of man. But for himself his life 
was regulated by other infiuences, w'as actuated 
by the thousand w'orkings of ancient and mo- 
dern times, and not unfrequently by the forms 
and circumstances of the distant past. For 
w'hat attracts men is more to them than the 
passing labour of the day, and all that they 
have done continues to w'ork within as a living 
reality. The naturalist, w'hose desire after rare 
plants leads him up the steep height from which 
he can hardly find his w'ay back ; the soldier, 
W'hose recollection of the excitement of old 
battles leads him into new combats — these are 
both led by the pow'er of thoughts which have 
been excited in them by their past lives ; and 
naturally so. Man is not the slave of that 
which he has experienced, if he is not debased 
by it; his will is free, he chooses as he likes, 
and casts off what he will;, but the forms and 
ideas which have entered into his soul work on 
and guide him unceasingly; he has often to 
guard himself against their mastery, but in a 
thousand cases he follows joyfully their gentle 
guidance. Thus the learned man smiled as ho 
thought how strangely the old reminiscences of 
thousands of years had brought him among 
these country people, and how different w'as the 
mind and judgment of the man w'ho ruled here, 
ow'ing to the difference of occupation. 

Amidst these thoughts the lowing of the 


2S 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


cattle sounded agreeably from the stalls. Look- 
ing up, he saw a succession of maids with aprons 
carrying full milk -pails to the dairy. Bfehind 
them went Use, in a simple morning dress ; her 
fair hair shone in the sun like spun gold, and 
her step was brisk and lively as the early morn. 
The Professor felt shy of approaching her ; he 
contemplated her thoughtfully ; she also was 
one of the forms which henceforth was to live 
within him, the ideal of his dreams — perhaps of 
his V, ashes. For how long? and how power- 
fully ? He did not anticipate in the approach- 
ing hours that his Roman emperor would be 
active in answering this question. 

The Proprietor came across the farm-yard, 
and, greeting the Professor, asked him to take a 
short walk into the fields. As the two walked 
together towards the sun — both worthy men, 
and yet so different in face and figure, in mind 
and manners — many would have marked the 
contrast: Use did so with deep interect; but 
any one who had not the eyes of a treasure- 
seeker or exorcist could not perceive how differ- 
rent were the invisible retinue of small spirits 
which fluttered round the temples and shoulders 
of both, similar to swarms of countless birds or 
bees. The spirits of the Proprietor were in 
homely working dress, blouses and fluttering 
head-gear — among them a few figures in the 
indefinite dresses of faith, love, and hope. On 
the other hand, round the Professor swarmed 
an invisible throng of foreign figures with togas 
or antique helmets, in purple dresses and Gi-eek 
chlamys, also men in the dress of athletes, with 
bundles of rods, and with goose-wings on their 
hats. The little retinue of the Proprietor flew 
incessantly over the fields and back again ; the 
swarm round the Professor remained steadily by 
him. At last the Proprietor stopped at one 
particular field; he looked at it with great 
delight, and mentioned that he had here suc- 
ceeded by deep ploughing in growing gi’een 
lupins, then newly introduced into cultivation. 
The Professor seemed surprised; among his 
spirit retinue there arose a confused stir ; one 
of the small antique spirits flew to the nearest 
clod of earth and spun a delicate web from the 
head of the Professor, which he fastened thereto. 
Instantly the Professor told his companion how 
deep ploughing for green lupins had been the 
custom of the Romans, and how rejoiced he was 
that now after more than a thousand years this 
old discovery had been brought to light again 
in our farming. They then spoke of the change 
in agriculture, and the Professor mentioned how 
striking it was that three hundred years after 
the beginning of our era, the corn exchanges at 
the harbours of the Black Sea and Asia Minor 
were so similar to those of Hamburg and 
London in modern days, whilst there in the 
present day other agricultural produce was 
principally cultivated. Finally, he told him of 
a grain tariff which was imposed by a Roman 
emperor, and that unfortunately the price of 
wheat and barley, the two products on which 
then depended other prices and duties, were 
effaced from the stone tablet that had been pre- 
served. And he explained why this loss was so 
much to be lamented. Now the heart of the 
host began to expand, and he assured the Pro- 
fessor that it need not be lamented, for the 


lost value might be fixed from the price of the 
remaining produce of the straw and husk, be- 
cause all agricultural produce taken as a whole 
had a firm and ancient relative value. He gave 
this relation of their productive value in figures, 
and the Professor discovered with joyful 
astonishment that they agreed with the tariff 
of his old Emperor Diocletian. 

Whilst the men were carrying on this de- 
sultory conversation, a mischievous wide-awake 
spirit, probably the Emperor Diocletian himself, 
flew from the Professor through the peasant 
spirits of the Proprietor, placed himself in his 
purple robe on the head of the master, stamped 
with his legs on his skull, and gave him the 
feeling that the Professor was a sensible and 
worthy man, who might give him further in- 
formation on the value and price of agricultural 
produce. It also pleased the Proprietor well 
that he could give the learned man instruction 
in his own domain. 

WHien, at the end of an hour, the two 
wanderers returned to the house, the Proprietor 
stopped at the door and said with some solemnity 
to the Professor, “ W’^hen I brought you hero 
yesterday, I little knew what sort of person I 
had with me. It grieves me that I greeted so 
inhospitably a man like you. Your acquaint- 
ance has become a pleasure to me ; it is rare to 
meet with a person with whom one can speak 
out on various subjects as one can with you. 
As you are travelling for recreation, pray be 
pleased to pass some time with us simple folk — 
the longer the better. It is indeed not a time of 
year when a country host can make the house 
agreeable to his guests, so you must be content. 
If you wish to work, and require books, you 
may have them brought here ; and pray look out 
whether the Romans had winter barley which 
was lighter than ours. If you agree to my 
proposal, you will give me pleasure.” So say- 
ing, he held out his hand with honest heartiness 
to his guest. 

A bright light shone over the countenance of 
the Professor ; he eagerly clasped the hand of 
his fi’iendly host. If you are willing to keep 
me and my friend some days longer, I accept 
your invitation with all my heart. I must tell 
you that the insight into a new circle of human 
interests is most valuable to me, but still more 
so the kindness with which you have treated us.” 

“ Settled,” exclaimed the Proprietor, cheer- 
fully ; “ now we will call your friend.” 

The Doctor opened his door. When the Pro- 
prietor warmly repeated the invitation to him, 
he looked for a moment earnestly at his friend, 
and when the latter gave him a friendly nod, 
he also accepted for the few days which were 
still free before the promised visit to his relations. 
Thus it happened that the Emperor Diocletian, 
five hundred years after he had unwillingly left 
tl’.e world, exercised his tyrannical power over the 
Professor and the Proprietor, ^\^lether there 
were other ancient powers actively working in 
secret, is not ascertained. 

Use listened silently to her father’s intelli- 
gence that the gentlemen would be his guests 
some time longer, but her look fell so bright and 
warm on the strangers that they rejoiced in be- 
ing welcomed also by her. 

Irom this hour they were introduced into 


29 


AMONG THE HERDS AND SHEAVES. 


the house as old acquaintances, and both, though 
they had never lived in the country, felt it in- 
dispensable, and as if they had returned to a 
home in which years before they had once 
bustled about. It was a busy life there, and yet 
even w’hen work was most pressing and earnest, 
there was a cheerful repose about it. Without 
many words every one worked in unison. The 
daylight was the supreme patron, who, at its rise, 
called to labour, and when extinguished relieved 
the strain of limb ; the labourers looked up to 
the sky to measure their hours of work, and the 
sun and the clouds regulated their frame of 
mind. Slowly and gently, as nature draws the 
blossoms out ot the earth and matures the fruits, 
did the feelings of these men grow into blossoms 
and fruit.^ In peaceful relations the workers 
passed their lives. Small impressions, such as 
a few warm words or a friendly look, sufficed to 
entwine a firm bond round these various natures 

a bond woven with invisible threads; but 
which attained a strength sufficient to last 
through a whole life. 

Ihe friends also felt the influence of the 
peace, daily activity, and small events of the 
country. Only when they looked towards the 
old house and thought of the hope which had 
led them hither, did something of the disquiet 
come over them which children feel when 
expecting a Christmas-box ; and the quiet w'ork- 
ing of their fancy threw a brilliant light over 
all that belonged to the house, even down to the 
barking Nero, who, as early as the second day, 
expressed by the vehement wagging of his tail, 
his wish to be taken into their fellowship at 
table. 

The Doctor failed not to remark how strongly 
his friend was attracted by this quiet life, and 
with what tact he adapted himself to the in- 
habitants of the house. The Proprietor, before 
he rode to the distant parts of the farm, brought 
him some agricultural books, and spoke to him 
of the different sorts of corn, and the Professor 
answered him as modestly as a young gentleman 
in top boots, and immersed himself forthwith 
earnestly in these new interests. Also between 
Use and the Professor there was an evident 
understanding, upon the cause of which the 
Doctor reflected with disquiet. "When the Pro- 
fessor spoke to her, it was with deep respect, 
both in voice and look, and Use always turned 
by preference to him, and Avas quietly but in- 
cessantly endeavouring to give him pleasure. 
When at table he picked up her handkerchief, 
he handed it to her with a respectful inclination 
as to a princess. Wlien she gave him his cup 
he looked as happy as if he had discovered the 
secret meaning of some difficult passage in an 
author. Then in the evening, Avhen he sat with 
the father in the garden and Use came behind 
them from the house, his countenance bright- 
ened up, though he had not yet seen her. When 
she distributed to the children their supper, and 
was obliged to scold the little Franz because he 
was naughty, the Professor looked suddenly as 
dismal if he himself were a boy who must 
mitigate the displeasure of his sister. These 
observatioirs gave occasion to the Doctor to 
think. 

Further, when, shortly after the audacious 
Hans proposed to the Doctor to play a friendly 


game of blindman*s-buff, Fritz assumed as a 
matter of course that the Professor would in the 
meantime converse with the father in the 
arbour, and ho neA^er dreamt of asking anything 
so extravagant of his learned friend as to join in 
the game. Hoav astonished then Avas he when Use, 
having folded the handkerchief, approached the 
Professor, requested him to be blinded first, and 
he, the Professor, looked quite happy at the 
idea, offered his head gently — like a lamb to the 
sacrifice — to be covered, and alloAved himself to 
be led by Use into the midst of the circle of 
little wild ones. Noisily did the swarm circle 
round the Professor; the impudent children 
pulled him by the flaps of his coat, even Use 
contrived to lay hold of a button and draAv him 
gently by it. This put him in a state of 
excitement ; he felt about with his hands, and 
minded no attacks of the assaulting children, only 
seeking to seize the fair offender ; and when he 
did not succeed, he kept poking about Avith his 
stick and groping like the blind singer Demo- 
dokus to catch Phaaken. Now, at last, he hit 
exactly upon Use, but she passed the end of the 
stick to her sister, and Clara whistled on it, 
but he exclaimed, “ Fraulein Use !” She A\’as 
delighted that he had guessed wrong, and ho 
looked much puzzled. 

Other games followed, in all of Avhich the 
Professor shoAved such dexterity that the children 
were quite enchanted, though Franz called out 
indignantly that he did not strike Use hard 
enough Avhen he had the knotted handkerchief. 
Use, hoAA'ever, took the handkerchief, and, much 
to his astonishment and delight, struck him 
heartily over the shoulders. 

The Doctor joined in the sports, and looked 
with pleasure at the movements of the wild 
maidens in the games ; and when Use stood by a 
tree and laid hold of a branch Avith her hand in 
order to support herself, she looked, Avith her 
gloAving face Avreathed by the leaves of the nut 
tree, so lovely and happy, that even the Doctor 
was enchanted. 

In such a bacchanalian mood it AA'as not to be 
wondered at that the Professor at last called 
upon Hans to run a race tAvice round the square. 
Amidst the shouts of the children Hans lost the 
race, as he himself maintained because he had 
had the inner side of the square, but the general 
voice rejected entirely this excuse. When the 
runners came again to the arbour. Use handed 
to the Professor his great coat, which she had 
meanAvhile fetched from the coat-rack in the 
hall: “It is late, you must not take cold while 
Avith us.” It was not at all late, but he put on 
the coat at once, buttoned it up from top to 
bottom, and, with a look of satisfaction, shook 
his opponent Hans by the shoulder. Afterwards 
they all sat doAV’n again in the arbour, in order 
to cool themseh'es. Here, at the vociferous 
demands of the little ones, a thaler Avas passed 
round amidst a general cliorus, and the strict 
part of the family loudly declared that the 
thaler had twice fallen to the ground betAveen 
Use and the Professor, because they had not 
passed it firmly enough into each other’s hands. 
Hy this game the love of song Avas aAvakened 
among the young people, and great and small 
sang together as loud as they could, such songs 
as had become familiar to them — “ On the co^ 


30 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


oanks of tlic Saal/^ “ Song of the Cloak,” and 
the catch of “ The Bells of Capernaum.” After 
that Use and Clara, at the request of the Doctor, 
sang a song of the people as a duet, very simple 
and unadorned, and perliaps on that account the 
melancholy style touched the heart, so that after 
the song all became still, and the strangers 
appeared much moved, till the Proprietor called 
upon the guests to contribute their share. The 
Professor, recovering from his emotion, began 
immediately to sing, in a rich-toned bass, “ Here 
I sit in a cool cellar,” so that the boys in their 
enthusiasm drank up the remains of their glasses 
of milk, and clinked them on the table. Again 
the society broke out into a chorus ; they began 
the dear old song, “ Of the Fatherland,” so far 
as they knew the verses, and in conclusion they 
attempted Liitzow’s “ Wild Chase.” The Doctor, 
as an experienced chorus-singer, maintained the 
melody beautifully, amidst the most difficult 
passages, and the refrain sounded wonderfully 
in the calm evening air, the tones passed along 
the vine arbour and wall, and over the top of the 
fruit-trees up to the thicket of the nearest hill, 
and came back from thence as an echo. 

After this masterpiece the children’s party 
broke up, and they were t-aken by Use unwil- 
lingly to the house, but the men continued in 
conversation a little longer; they had laughed 
and sung together, and their hearts were opened. 
The Proprietor spoke of his early days, how he 
had tried his chance here and there, and at last 
had established himself firmly in this place. 
The struggle of daily life had been weary and 
toilsome; he gladly called it to mind at this 
hour, and spoke of it with the good sense of an 
energetic man. 

Thus passed the second day on the estate — 
under sun and stars, amongst sheaves and herds. 

The following morning the Professor was 
awaked by the loud crowing of the feathered 
farm -yard family ; the cock fiew upon a stone 
under the wintlow of the visitor’s room, and 
sounded his morning clarion imperiously — the 
hens and young chickens stood in a circle round 
him, and endeavoured to practise the same art ; 
amongst them chirruped loud the sparrows, then 
the doves fiew up and cooed their song, at last 
there came a number of ducks and began quack- 
ing a second chorus. The Professor found it 
necessary to vacate his bed, and the Doctor 
called out querulously from his, “ That comes 
from yesteiday’s sing-song; now we hear the 
efiect of all the associated farm-yard musicians.” 
But in this he was in error, the little people of 
the farm -yard sung only from official zeal to 
announce that a stormy day might be expected. 

When the Professor went into the open air, 
the red morning light still glowed like fire in 
the heavens, and the first rays of light shimmered 
over the fields in broken and trembling waves. 
The gi’ound was dry, no dewdrops hung on leaf 
or turf. The air alst) was sultry, and the heads 
of the flowers drooped languidly on their stalks. 
Had a second sun appeared in the night ? 
But the clear piping of the yellow thrush 
Boundeel from the top of an old cherry-tree 
incessantly. The old gardener, Jacob, looked 
at the tree, shaking his head ; “ I thought that 
the rogue had gone away, he has kept house too 
well among the cherries, and now he is giving 


us information before he leaves; something is 
coming to-day.” 

Use, as she came from the dairy, said : “ The 
cows are unquiet, they low and push against one 
another.” 

The sun rose red out of heavy vapoyir— the 
labourers in the field felt a weariness in their 
limbs, and continually stopped in their work to 
dry their faces. The shepherd was to-day dis- 
contented with, his flock ; the wethers were bent 
upon gambolling instead of eating, they pushed 
their heads against one another, and the young 
ones frisked and danced about as if they were 
drawn by wires. Disorder and wilfulness could 
not be restrained; the dog circled round the 
excited animals incessantly, with his tail betw’een 
his legs. 

The sun rose higher in the cloudless heaven — 
the day became hotter — a light vapour rose 
from the earth which made the distance in- 
distinct; the sparrows flew restlessly about the 
tops of the trees, the su allows skimmed along 
the ground and circled round the men. The 
friends went to their room, here they felt the 
exhausting sultriness ; the Doctor, v\ ho was 
making a plan of the house, laid his pencil 
down. The Professor was reading about agri- 
cultui’e and the rearing of cattle, but he looked 
often from his book up to the sky, opened the 
window and closed it again. The dinner was 
quieter than usual, the host looked serious, and 
his statf hardly allowed themselves time to 
empty their plates. 

“ We shall have trouble to-day,” said the 
master of the house, to his daughter, on rising. 
“I will ride to the outskirts; if I am not back 
before the storm, lock aiter the house and tai m.” 

Again men and horses went to the field, but 
to-day they went unwillingly. The heat be- 
came insupportable, the afternoon sun fell 
scorchingly on their heads ; rock and walls 
glowed with heat ; a white cloud curtained the 
heavens, which visibly thickened and massed 
itself together. The ploughboys eageily took 
the horses to the stables, the labourers hastened 
to load the sheaves, and drove the waggons at a 
quick trot, in order to shelter one iiiore load 
under a roof. 

The friends stood before the farm-gate, and 
looked at the heavy clouds which were father- 
ing upon the horizon. The yelknv light of the 
sun struggled for a short time against the daik 
shadows; finally the last glare of light dis- 
appeared, and the earth lay daikeiud and 
mourul'ul. Use approached them : “ The time 
is come ; about four o’clock the storm w ill rise. 
It seldom comes in the morning over the plains, 
but then it is always severe w ith us, for people 
say it is because it cannot break over the hill- 
tops which you see from the garden; then it 
hangs long over cur fields, and the thunder 
w'ith us is more violent, they say, than else- 
where.” 

The first burst of the wind howled over the 
house. “ I must go through the farm -yard to 
see that all is right,” exclaimed Use, as she 
wrapped a handkerchief quic kly round her head, 
and hurried on, accompanied by the men, through 
the storm, to the fann-building in which the 
fire-engine stood, she loc'ked to see whether the 
door w as open, and water in the barrels ; then 


AMONG THE HERDS AND SHEAVES. 


31 


b1ii» Lasteiied forward to the stables whilst the 
straw whirled round her ; she warned the maidens 
once more with a cheerful call, spoke rapidly to 
the officials some words, and returned to the 
house. She looked into the kitchen, and opened 
the door of the children’s room to see whether 
all her brothers and her sisters were assembled 
with the tutor. Lastly, she let in the dog, who 
was barking fearfully at the gate of the farm- 
yard, and then returned to the friends, who were 
looking out from the window of the sitting-room 
on the uproar of the elements. “ The house is 
secured, as far as is possible for man ; but we 
trust in a stronger protector,” said Use. 

The storm slowly { pproachcd, one dark mass 
rolling on alter another, and under them, like 
monstrous curtain, rose a pale veil of mist 
higher and higher ; the thunder rolled, the 
pauses shorter, more wildly threatening; the 
storm howled round the house ; thick clouds of 
dust chased angjily about the walls ; leaves and 
blades of straw flew about in wild dance. 

The lion roars,” said Use, folding her hands. 
She bent her head for some minutes, then 
looked silently out of the window. “ Father is 
at the outlying farm under shelter,” she began 
again enticipaliag a question of the Professor. 

It was indeed a violent storm that raged about 
the old house. Those who listened for the first 
time in this place, on the open height, alongside 
a ridge of hill, from which the rolling, tumul- 
tuous crash of the thunder resounded back, felt 
that they had never experienced such power in 
nature before. Whilst the thunder roared, the 
room became suddenly dark as night, and ever 
and again was this dismal twilight pierced by the 
flash of fiery serpents which passed over the 
farm. 

There was noise in the children’s room; the 
crying of the little ones might be heard. Use 
wont to the door and opened it. “ Come to me,” 
she called out. The children ran in terrified, 
and pressed round their sister; the youngest 
clung to her dress. Use took the little 
child and placed it under the charge of the Ih’O- 
fessor, who was standing by her side. “ Be quiet, 
and say your prayer softly,” she said ; “ this is 
no time for weeping and complaining.” 

Suddenly came a light so blinding that it 
caused them to close their eyes, and a sharp 
concussion, ending in a discordant crash. When 
the Professor opened his eyes, he saw, by the 
light of another flash. Use standing by his side, 
her head turned towards him with a radiant look. 
He exclaimed, anxiously, “That has struck.” 

“ Not in the farm -yard,” replied the maiden, 
unmoved. 

Again a clap, and again a flash, and a clap, 
wilder, shorter, sharper. It hovers over us,” 
said Use, calmly, pressing the head of her little 
brother to her as if to protect liim. 

The Professor could not tewn his eyes from the 
group in ,the middle of the room. The noble 
figure of the woman before him, erect, motionless, 
surrounded by the frightened brothel’s and 
sisters, the countenance elevated, and a proud 
smile playing round the mouth. And she had, 
in a moment of uncontrollable feeling, confided 
one of these dear lives to his care : he stood in 
the hour of danger near her as one of hers. He 
di’inly held the child, which clasped him in 


terror. They were short moments, but betiveen 
the flash and the thunderclap the glow in him 
blazed up into a bright flame. She who stood 
near him in the lightning, transfused with blind- 
ing light, she it ivas who had become necessary 
to his life. 

Still longer did the thunder roar ; the hea%'y 
rain beat against the v\ indow ; it clattered and 
dashed round the house ; the ivindows trembled 
under the raging outbui st of the storm. 

“ It is over,” said Use, gently. The children 
separated and ran to the window. “ Up-stairs, 
Hans,” cried the sister, and hastened with her 
brother out of the room to see whether the 
ivater had made an entrance anyw’here. The 
Professor looked thoughtfully towards the door 
through w’hich she had disappeared; but the 
Doctor, who meanwhile had been seated quietly 
on a chair, with his hands on his knees, shak- 
ing his head, began : “ These phenomena of 
nature are against us. Since the lightning con- 
ductors have come into discredit, one has not 
even the comfort of thinking that such rods can 
preserve the old manuscript in safety against 
the pressure of the weather. This is a bad abode 
for our poor old manuscript, and’ it is truly a 
Christian duty to rescue the book as quickly as 
possible out of this thunder-trap. Now, can one 
in future, with any tranquillity of mind, see a 
cloud in the heavens ? We shall always think 
of what may happen here.” 

“ The house has, however, hitherto held out,” 
answered the Professor, laughing. “ Let us leave 
the manuscript meanwhile to the good Power in 
whom the human beings here so firmly trust. 
See, already the sun’s rays are breaking through 
the mist.” 

Half-an-hour later it w’as all past ; the dark 
clouds still lay over the hills ; and from the dis- 
tance resounded the harmless thunder. Life 
began to stir again in the empty farm-yard. 
First, the choir of ducks came foith in joyous 
peals from their hiding-place, cleaned their 
feathers, examined the puddles of water, and 
quacked along the cart rucks ; then came the 
cock with his hens, cautiously treading and 
picking the soaked seeds ; tlie doves flew on to 
the projections of the window, w’ith obeisances 
wished each other good fortune, and spread 
their feathers in the fresh sunlight. Nero 
bounded boldly out of the house, trotted through 
the farm-yard, and barked in the air by way of 
challenge, to frighten away completely the hos- 
tile clouds. Then the maids and labourers 
stepped again actively about the place, breathing 
the refreshing balsam of the moist air. Ihe 
bailiff came and reported that the lightning had 
struck twice on the neighbouring hill. The 
Proprietor, thoroughly wet through, rode rapidly 
in, anxious to see w’hether his house and farm 
buildings remained unconsumed. lie sprang 
gaily from his horse, and exclaimed, “ It has 
been a soaking rain out there, but God be 
praised, it has passed over. Such a storm has 
not been experienced here for years.” The 
people listened also for a while as the head 
ploughman related that he had seen a pillar of 
water, which hung like a great sack from 
heaven to earth, and that it had hailed violently 
on the other side the border. Then they entered 
the stable with great equanimity, and enjoyed 


82 


THE LOST ]VIANUSCRIPT. 


the hour of rest which the had weather had pro- 
cured for them. Whilst the Proprietor was 
talking to his staff, the Doctor prepared to 
descend, with the boys and the tutor, into the 
valley, there to contemplate the overflow of the 
brook. 

But the Professor and Use remained in the 
orchard, and the former was much astonished 
at the number of snails that now came out 
everywhere, trailing slowly over the path ; and 
he took one after the other and placed them 
carefully out of the way, but the senseless crea- 
tures always returned again to the firm gravel, 
expecting that the foot passengers were to get 
out of their w’ay. They both examined the 
fruit-trees to see how they had borne the 
storm. They were much broken, and their 
branches bent down. Much unripe fruit lay 
scattered on the grass. The Professor cau- 
tiously shook the branches, bending under the 
weight of rain, in order to free them from 
their burden ; he fetched some poles to support 
an old apple tree which was in danger of break- 
ing under the weight, and both laughed heartily 
when, in the course of his work, the water from 
the leaves ran. in small streams down his hair 
and coat. 

Use clasped her hands together, lamenting 
over the fall of so much fruit, but there was 
stiU much on the trees, and they might yet 
hope for a rich harvest. The Professor sympa- 
thised with her, and advised her to bake the 
fallen fruit, and Use laughed again at this, 
because most of it was unripe. The Professor 
confided to her that he as a boy had helped his 
dear mother when she was arranging the fruit 
on the drying board; for his parents had 
possessed a large garden in the town in which 
his father was an official. Use listened with 
eager interest uffien he related further how he 
had lost his father as a boy, and how lovingly 
and wisely his mother had cared for him, how 
confidential his relations with her had been, 
and that her loss had been the greatest sorrow 
of his life. Then they walked up and down 
along the gravel walk, and in both of them 
an echo of the sorrows of past days inter- 
mingled with the cheerful mood of the present : 
just as in nature the movement of a violent 
storm leaves after it a gentle trembling, and 
the pure light of clay sparkles on bower 
and blade like countless glittering precious 
stones. 

Use opened a door which led from the lower 
part of the orchard into the open country, and, 
standing still, said, hesitatingly, “I propose a 
walk into the village, in order to see how his 
Reverence the Pastor has borne the storm ; 
will it please you to make acquaintance with our 
dear friend ? ” 

“ I shall be delighted to accompany you,’^ 
answered the Professor. 

They walked along a damp footpath that 
wound its way through the length of the valley 
by the side of the churchyard. Near it lay a 
little village of closely-packed houses, in which 
dwelt most of the labourers on the property. 
Hie first building below the church was the 
Pastor’s house, with a wooden roof and small 
Vi^indows, difiering little, from the dwellings of 
the country pet pi j. Use opened the door, and 


an old maid-servant hastened towards her wdth 
a familiar greeting. 

“ Ah, Fraulein,” she exclaimed, “ it has been 
bad weather to-day. I thought the last daj 
was approaching. The master kept constantly 
standing at the chamber window, looking up to 
the castle and raising his hands in prayer toi 
you. Now he is in the garden.” 

The guests entered through the back door 
into a small space betwixt the gables and barns 
of the neighbouring farm-yard. A few low 
fruit-trees stood amongst the flower-beds. The 
old gentleman, in a dark morning coat, stood by 
an espalier, working industriously. 

“ My dear child,” he cried, looking up, and a 
smile of pleasure lighted up his kindhearted 
face under his white hair ; “ I knew that you 
would come to-day.” 

He bowed to the stranger, and after a few 
words of greeting turned again to Use. 

“ Only think what a misfortune, — the storm 
has cracked our peach-tree, the espalier is torn 
up and the branches broken; the damage is 
irreparable.” 

He bent down to his disabled tree, which he 
had just bound up with a bandage of tree-gum 
and matting. 

“It is the only peach-tree here,” he said, 
lamentingly to the Professor ; ** they have none 
on the whole property, nor any in the town. 
But I must not weary you with my little trou- 
bles,” he continued, more cheerfully ; “ I pray 
you come with me into the house.” 

Use entered a side door near the house. 
“ How is Flavia ? ” she inquired of the maid, 
who stood at the door, expecting the visit. 

“ She is lively,” answered Susannah, “ and 
the little one also.” 

“ It is the dun cow and her young calf,” ex- 
plained the Pastor to the Professor, whilst Use 
entered the narrow courtyard with the maid. 
“ I do not like that people should call animals 
by Christian names, so I have recourse to our 
Latin.” 

Use returned. “ It is time that the calf 
should be taken away ; it is a useless feeder.” 

“ I have also said that,” interposed Susannah, 
“ but his Reverence the Pastor will not decide 
upon it.” 

“ You are right, my dear child,” answered 
the Pastor; “according to worldly wisdom it 
would be advisable to deliver the little calf to 
the butcher. But the calf secs the thing quite 
in another light, and it is a lively creature.” 

“ But when one asks it anHliing one receives 
no answer,” said Use, “ and therelbre it must be 
pleased with what we choose. Your Reverence 
must allow me to settle this with Susannah 
behind your back; meanwhile you shall have 
milk from our house.” 

The Pastor conducted them into his room ; 
it was a small space, whitewashed and scantily 
furnished. Thei’e was an old writing-table, a 
black painted book-shelf with a small number 
of old books, a sofa and some chairs covered with 
coloured cliintz. “ Here has been my Tusculum 
for forty years,” said the Pastor, with satisfac- 
tion, to the Professor, who looked with surprise 
at the scanty furnitm’e. “ It would have been 
I larger if the addition had been made ; there 
! were fine plans arranged, and my wortliy neigh- 


AMONG THE HERDS AND SHEAVES. 


38 


Dour took much pains about it, but since my 
deceased wife was carried out there” — he looked 
towards the churchyard on the height — “ I will 
not hear any more of it.^* 

The Professor looked out of the window. 
Forty years in this confined building, in the 
small valley betwixt the churchyard, the huts, 
and the wood ! He felt oppressed in spirit. 
“ It appears that tlie community is poor, there 
are only a few fields amongst the hills, and how 
is it in winter ? ” 

Ay, one can always go on foot,” answered 
the clerical gentleman ; “ then one can visit 
one’s friends also, only the snow is sometimes 
troublesome. Once we were quite snowed up, 
and had to be dug out.” He laughed plea- 
santly at the recollection. “ It is not lonely 
when one has lived many years in a place. 
One has known the grandfathers, trained the 
fathers, taught the children, and here and there 
already a grandchild, and one sees how men rise 
from the earth and sink down into it again like 
the leaves of a tree. One observes that all is 
vanity, and a short preparation for eternity. 
Dear child,” he said, to Ilse, who now entered, 
“ sit down w’ith us ; I have not seen your dear 
face for three days, and would not go up because 
I heard you had visitors. I have something here 
for you,” taking a paper out of his desk ; “ it is 
poetry.” 

“ You see the song of the Muses docs not fail 
us,” he continued, speaking to the Professor. 
“ It is certainly humble, and in the bucolic style. 
But believe me, as one who knows his village, 
there are few new things under the sun ; there 
is everything here in a small way that there is 
on a large scale in the rest of the world ; the 
smith is an eager politician, and the justice 
would gladly be a Dionysius of Syracuse. We 
have also the rich man of Scripture, and truly 
many Lazaruses, — to which number this poet 
belongs ; and our plasterer is a musician in win- 
ter, — he does not play ill on the zither. This 
all creates confusion, and I would gladly leave 
it for above ; it is difficult sometimes to preserve 
good fellowship among them.” 

“ He wdshes to have his green wall again, as 
far as I understand it,” said Ilse, looking up 
from the paper. 

“For seven years he has been lying in his 
room half-palsied with severe and incurable 
pains,” explained the Pastor to his guest ; “ and 
he looks through a little hole of a window into 
the world at the clay wall opposite and the men 
who can be seen passing ; and the wall belongs 
to a neighbour, and my dear child trained a 
wild vine up it. But this year our neighbour — 
our rich man — has built upon it and torn away the 
foliage. This vexes the invalid, and it is difficult 
to help him, for it is not now the time to plant 
a fresh one.” 

“ But something must be devised,” interposed 
Ilse. “I will speak to him concerning it; 
excuse me : I will not be long.” 

She left the room. “ If you think fit,” said 
the Pastor, speaking low to his guest, “ I will 
show you this wall ; for I have much considered 
the matter, but cannot devise anything.” The 
Profiissor agreed silently. They walked along 
the village lane, and at the corner the Pastor 
.aid hold of the arm of his companion. “ Here 
3 


lies the invalid,” he began, in a low tone. “ Hia 
weakness makes him rather deaf, but stiU we 
must tread gently, that he may not observe it, 
for that disturbs him.” 

The Professor looked close into the cottage ; a 
small sash window was open, and Ilse was stand- 
ing before it, her back turned to them. Wliilst 
the Pastor was showing him the clay wall and 
the height that was necessary for the trailing 
plant, he listened to the conversation at the 
window. Ilse spoke loud, and was answ'cred 
from the bod by a shrill voice. He discovered 
with astonishment that there was no question of 
the vine-plant. 

“ And the gentleman is of a good disposition ? ” 
asked the voice. 

“ He is a learned and a good man,” answered 
Ilse. 

“ And how long does he remain with you ? ” 

“ I know not,” was Use’s hesitating reply. 

“ He should remain fdtogether with you, for 
you love him,” said the invalid. 

“ Ah, that we dare not hope, dear Benz. But 
this conversation will not help to give you a 
good prospect,” continued Ilse. “ I will speak 
to the neighbour ; but nothing will grow between 
to-day and to-morrow. I have bethought me 
that the gardeuer can fix up under the window 
a firm little board, and we will place upon it 
meanwhile some plants from my room.” 

“ That wiU take away the prospect,” answered 
the voice, discontentedly. “ I could no longer 
see the swallows as they fly past, and little of 
the heads of the people who go by.” 

“ That is true,” replied Use ; “ but we will 
put the board so low that the flowers shall on.'y 
peep through the window.” 

“ What kind of flowers are they ? ” asked 
Benz. 

“ A myrtle,” said Ilse. 

“That does not bloom,” answered Benz, 
surlily. 

“But there are two roses blowing, and a 
plant of heliotrope.” 

“ I do not know it,” interjx)sed the invalid. 

“ It smells very sweet,” said Ilse. 

“ Then it may come,” assented Benz. “ But 
I must also have some basil.” 

“ We will see whether it is to be had,” an- 
swered Ilse ; “ and the gardener shall also train 
some roots of ivy round the window.” 

“ That -will be too dark for me,” retorted the 
dissatisfied Benz. 

“ Never mind,” said Ilse, decidedly ; “ we will 
try, and if it does not suit you, it can be 
altered.” 

To this the invalid agreed. 

“ But the gardener must not make me wait,” 
he exclaimed ; “I should like to have it to- 
morrow.” 

“ Good,” said Ilse ; “ early in the morning.” 

“ And you will show my verses to no one, not 
even to the strange gentleman, they are only for 
you ? ” 

“ I will keep them secret,” said Ilse. “ Call 
your daughter Anna, dear Benz.” 

As she prepared to depart, the Pastor drew 
his guest gently back. 

“ When the invalid has had such a conversa- 
tion,” he explained, “he is contented for the 
whole of the next day, and to-morrow he will 


B4 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


again make some verses. He writes — between 
ourselves it must be said — much nonsense. 
The people in the village avoid passing under 
iiis window as much as possible. This is the 
hardest work in my office; for the people are 
obstinate in the superstition that illness and 
suffering originate from evil spirits ; that they 
are inflicted from hatred, or as punishment for 
past wrong ; and though I preach to them in- 
cessantly that all is only a trial for the other 
world, this teaching is too high for them, onl}' 
the infirm believe it, but those who remain 
healthy and stubborn struggle against the 
truth and salvation.” 

The learned man turned his eyes up to the 
little window from which the invalid looked 
upon the clay wall, and then again on the 
clerical gentleman who for forty years had 
struggled in the valley for the saving truth. 
His heart was heavy and his eyes passed from 
the twilight of the deep vale to the hill-top, 
which still shone in the glad light of the even- 
ing sun. Then she returned to him, she who 
had descended to watch over the helpless and 
the poor; and when he ascended the height 
with her, it appeared to him as if they both 
emerged from gloomy earthly trouble into a 
lighter air; but the youthful figure and the 
beautiful calm countenance near him, shining 
in the lingering evening light so wondrously, so 
unlike his earthly nature — she seemed to re- 
semble one of those messengers whom Jehovah 
sent to the tent of his faithful servant. He re- 
joiced when she laughed at the joyous bounding 
of the dog, who came barking towards them. 

Thus vanished another day, lighted up by 
the sun, and overshadowed by the clouds, 
amidst small events of daily life and quiet exist- 
ence. When recorded by the pen it seems in- 
significant, but when a man lives in it, it sends 
his blood coursing energetically through his 
veins. 


CHAPTER VI. 

It was Sunday, and the estate wore its 
festive garment. The barns in the farm-yard 
w^ere closed, the farm servants and maids walked 
about in their best attire, not like busy labourers, 
but with the comfortable leisure which is the 
poetry of a toilsome life to the German country- 
man. The bells from the church-tovA'er called to 
divine service; Use, with her hymn-book in her 
hand, went with her sister slowly down the 
rock, the maids and men followed in small 
groups. The Proprietor passed this day in his 
study, in order to make up the accounts of 
the past week ; but first he knocked at the door 
of his friends* room, and paid them a short 
morning visit. 

“ We have some guests to-day, the Crown- 
Inspector Rolhnaus, and his wife; he is a 
worthy gentleman, his wife is by way of being 
learned. Take care, she will press you hard.’* 

As twelve o’clock struck, a carriage drawn 
by two well-bred brown horses stopped at the 
door ; the children hastened to the window. 

‘‘The Crown- Inspector’s lady comes,” ex- 
claimed the youngest, excitedly. 

A stout man in a dark green coat descended 


from the carriage, followed by a little lady in 
black silk, with a large bandbox. The Proprietor 
and Use met them at the door of the house with 
a smiling welcome, and conducted them to the 
family room. The gentleman had black hair 
and a round face, which, by exposure to sun and 
air, had attained a permanent tint of reddish 
brown. He had also sharp eyes, and a nose and 
lips prominently red. VVlien he learnt the 
names of the two strangers he made a slight 
obeisance, but looked dis])leased that both 
these citizens assumed for their dress a black 
frock-coat; and as he had a vague but strong 
aversion to all the useless authors and needy 
scholars who visited about the country in order 
to write books, or because they had no good re- 
sidence of their own, he assumed towards both 
these gentlemen a sulky and suspicious de- 
meanour. After a time the lady made her ap- 
pearance ; she had meanwhile, by the help of 
llse, put on a good cap, which had been taken 
out of the baudbox, a work of art, with two 
dark red roses. She entered the room, rustling, 
curtseying, and laughing, with an inquisitive 
nose, and polished otf from head to foot. She 
passed rapidly from one to the other, kissed the 
girls, declared to the boys that they had grown 
much during the last week, and at last stopped 
full of expectation before the two strangers. 
The host presented them, and did not fail to 
add : “ Two gentlemen from the University.” 

The little lady pricked up her ears, and her 
grey eyes sparkled. 

“ From the University !” she exclaimed ; 
“what a surprise. These gentlemen are rare 
guests in our country. There is indeed little 
inducement to learned gentlemen to come among 
us, for materialism reigns here, and the circula- 
ting library at Rossau is certainly not in good 
hands, for we never have anything new. May 
I be allowed to ask what are the studies of these 
gentlemen, whether learning in general or any- 
thing special ?** 

“ My friend studies learning in general, mine 
is more special,” replied the Professor ; “ this 
gentleman studies the Indian as well as the 
ancient languages.” 

“ Will you not have tlie kindness to be seated 
on the sofa ? ” interposed Use. Frau Rollmaus 
followed her reluctantly. 

“ Indian ! ** she exclaimed, seating herself and 
arranging her dress. “ That is a rare language. 
They wear tufts of feathers and their dress is 
scanty, and their trousers, if one may mention 
them, hang down as is the case with so many 
pigeons, which also have long feathers to their 
legs. One sees them sometimes pourtrayed ; in 
my Karl’s picture-book of last Christmas these 
wild men are clearly to be seen. They have 
barbarous customs, dear Use.” 

“ Rut why has not Karl come with you ?** 
inquired Use, in order to relieve the gentlemen 
from the discourse. 

“ It was only on account of returning in the 
dark. For the carriage has only two seats, and 
there would have been no room to pack in a thii d 
with Rollmaus ; so Karl would have had to sit 
by the coachman, and the poor child would bo 
so sleepy at night that I should have been atraid 
of his falling off. And then there are the 
lessons for to-morrow— for only think, I have 


THE LEARNED LADY FROM THE COUNTRY. 


35 


persuaded Rollmaus to take a tutor for our 
children, as your dear father has done.” 

VVlien the lady intimated the prospect of a 
return home after dark, the Doctor looked 
compassionately at his friend ; but the Pro- 
fessor was listening so attentively to the con- 
versation that he did not observe the commise- 
ration. Use asked further questions, and Frau 
Rollmaus certaiidy always answered, but some- 
times gave a longing look at the Doctor, whose 
connexion with the Indians in Karl’s picture- 
book appeared to her very instructive. Mean- 
while, the two other gentlemen were deep in 
conversation upon the qualities of a horse in the 
neighbourhood, which was recommended for 
general use, so that the Doctor at last turned 
to the chil(b-en, and chattered with Clara and 
Louise. 

After half an hour of quiet preparation, the 
maid-servant appeared at the door of the dinner- 
room. The Proprietor invited them to go to the 
table, and chivalrously offered his arm to Frau 
Rollmaus. The lady curtseyed and went with 
him, the Professor conducted Use, and the Doctor 
wished to take the sister Clara, but she coloured 
and resisted till he gave his other arm to Louise 
and Rickchen, whereupon Franz laid hold of the 
tail of his coat, and on the way whispered to him 
behind his back — “There is a turkey to-day.” 
But Herr Rollmaus, who thought conducting 
ladies a tiresome invention, made his exit alone, 
and greeted the gentlemen of the farm, who were 
ranged in the saloon, with these words : — 

“ Is all the corn in ?” 

“ Of course it is,” answered the Proprietor. 

Again all took their places according to rank 
and dignity. Frau Rollmaus had the place of 
honour, and between her and Use sat the Pro- 
fessor. 

It was no peaceful meal for the latter. Use 
was more silent than usual, but his neighlx)ur 
plied him with learned questions. She made 
him tell her the regulations of his University, 
and in what way the students were taught. 
And the Professor did it amply and with good 
humour. But he was not long able to preserve 
himself or others from the feeling of annoyance 
which the conversation of Frau Rollmaus always 
occasioned. 

“ So you are a philosopher ?” she said. “ That 
is very interesting. I have also attempted phi- 
losophy ; but the style is too incomprehensible. 
Wiat is the object of philosophy ?” 

“ It endeavours to instruct men in the life of 
their own spirit,” was the patient answer of the 
Professor to this perplexing question. 

“ The life of the spirit !” exclaimed Frau 
Rollmaus, excited ; “ but do you, then, believe 
that sjjirits can appear to men after death ?” 

“ Have you any examples of it ?” asked the 
Professor. “It would be interesting to all to 
hear them. Has anything of the kind happened 
in this country ?” 

“ Not so much with respect to spirits,” replied 
Frau Rollmaus, looking at the Proprietor sus- 
piciously ; “ but of second-sight, and what is 
ce.llcd sympathy. Only think, we had a maid 
once who waited in our bouse. — She need not 
necessarily have done so, but her parents wished | 
her away for a time ; for there was in the j 
village a poor lad who was a great fiddler, who i 


strolled morning and evening round her house, 
and when the maiden could come out, they sat 
together behind a bush — he played on the fiddle 
and she listened, and could not part from him. 
She was a nice maiden, and would adapt herself 
to everything in the house, only she was always 
sorrowful. Tlie fiddler was taken away to be a 
hussar, for which he was fitted because he was 
very courageous. — After a year, the cook came 
to me and said: ‘Frau Rollmaus, I cannot 
withhold it from you any longer, Gette walks in 
her sleep. She gets out of bed and sings the 
song of a soldier whom a captain caused to 
be shot, because he was ordered to do so, and 
then she gi’oans so that it would excite pity in a 
stone, and in the morning she knows nothing 
about her singing, but always continues to weep.’ 
And this was the truth. I called her, and asked 
her seriously : ‘ What is the matter with you ? 
I cannot bear this mysterious conduct, you are 
a riddle to me.’ Whereupon she lamented 
much, and begged me not to think ill of her, as 
she was an honourable maiden ; but she had 
seen an apparition. Gottlob had appeared iu 
the night at the door of her room, quite haggard 
and sorrowful, and had said: ‘Gette, it is all 
over with me ; believe me, to-morrow it is my 
turn.’ I tried to persuade the wench out of it, 
but her fears infected me. I wrote to an officer 
whom Rollmaus had known in coursing, and 
asked whether it was nonsense, or arose from 
the so-called second-sight. And he wrote back 
to me much astonished. It was a true case of 
second sight, for on the same day the fiddler 
had fallen from his horse, and had his leg 
broken, and lay in the hospital dying. Now, I 
pray you, was not that a natunil phenomenon ? ” 

“ And what became of the poor people ? ” 
asked the Professor. 

“ Oh, as for them,” answered Frau Rollmaus, 
“ it all came right ; for a comrade of the invalid, 
who had a sick mother, was from our village. 
I wrote to him requesting him to send me a 
letter every third day to report how the invalid 
was going on, and added that I would repay 
him % sending his mother bacon and flour. 
Then he wrote, and the affair lasted many 
weeks. At last the fiddler was cured and came 
back ; and both w'ere white as a sheet when they 
met, and embraced each other before my eyes 
without any consideration ; whereupon I spoke 
to the parents of the maiden, which was of 
little avail. Then I spoke to Rollmaus, to 
whom our village inn belongs, and who was 
looking out for a go(xi tenant. And that 
brought the history to an end, or as one usually 
says, to che comviencement du fain. Rollmaus 
was not satisfied with having a fiddler, because 
he thought them a frivolous race, but the people 
behave in an orderly way. Then, in the first 
place, I became sponsor, afterwards Rollmaus. 
But there have been no more apparitions.” 

“ It was well and kindly done,” exclaimed the 
Professor, energetically. 

“ We are all fellow -creatures,” said the Frau 
Rollmaus, apologetically. 

“ And I hope all good ones,” replied the Pro- 
fessor. “ Believe me, honoured lady, though 
there are various views in philosophy and other 
branches of learning, and much contention over 
many points, and one is apt to consider another 


36 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


ignorant ; yet with respect to what is called 
uprightness and benevolence, there has seldom 
been any difference of opinion, and every one 
delights in and esteems those in whom they 
find these qualities ; and this is what I feel for 
you now, Frau Rollmaus.” 

This he said with much heartiness to the 
learned lady. On his other side he heard a 
gentle rustling of the dress, and when he tnrned 
to Use he met a look so full of humble gratitude 
that he could hardly preserve his composure. 

The Frau RoUmaus, however, sat smiling and 
contented with the philosophical system of her 
neighbour. Again the Professor turned to her, 
and spoke of the difficnlty of doing good to the 
helpless in the right W'ay. Frau Rollmaus 
acknowledged that uneducated people had a 
way of their own, “ but one can easily get on 
with them, if they only know that one means 
well by them.” 

The Professor afterwards gave rise to a slight 
misnnderstanding, when he observed respectfiJly 
to the Crown-Inspector : “ You are right, for in 
this domain of patient love, fruitful energy is 
taken for granted.” 

“ Yes,” acquiesced Frau Rollmaus, puzzled, “to 
be sure, this energy which you mention is not 
wanting among us, and they marry for the most 
part just at the right time ; but the patient love 
which you so truly speak of as taken for granted, 
is not always forthcoming among our country 
people, for in marriage they frequently consider 
money more than love.” 

If, however, the notes in the concert at the 
upper table were not quite in tune, yet the 
turkey and custard pudding — a mastei'piece of 
Use’s kitchen — vanished without any adverse 
concussion of learned wisdom. All rose well 
contented with one another ; only the children, 
whose innocent mischief is most enduring, found 
with displeasure that Frau Rollmaus would not 
on this occasion enter into any contest in which 
the Conversation-Lexicon could rule as umpire. 
"Whilst the men drank their coffee in the next 
room, Frau Rollmaus sat again on the sofa, and 
Use had a difficult task to satisfy her cimiosity 
in answering the different questions with which 
she was overwhelmed concerning the two stran- 
gers. Meanwhile the children besieged the sofa, 
in order to lay in wait for an opportunity to 
undertake themselves a small campaign against 
the unsuspicious Frau Rollmaus. 

“ So they are making researches, and in onr 
district. It cannot be about the Indians. I did 
not know that any had ever come to these parts. 
It must be a mistake; and they must mean 
gipsies, who do make their appearance here. 
Only think, dear Use, a man and two women, 
each with a child, have come within the last 
fortnight. The women tell fortunes. What 
they have prophesied to the housemaids is truly 
remarkable ; and in the morning two hens dis- 
appearetl. Can it be concerning these gipsies ? 
but that I cannot believe, as they are mere 
tinkers and good-for-nothing people. No, they 
are not making investigations concerning them.” 

“ But who are the gipsies ? ” asked Clara. 

“ Dear child, they are vagabonds who formerly 
were a nation, and now spread themselves 
everyw’here. They had a king, and manuscripts, 
and hounds, although they were great rogues. 


Originally they were Egyptians, but also In- 
dians.” 

“ How could they be Indians ? ” exclaimed 
Hans, disrespectfully; “the Indians live in 
America. We also have a Conversation-Lexicon, 
and we will examine it immediately.” 

“ Yes, yes,” cried the children, and ran with 
their brother to the book-shelf. Each of them 
brought a volume with new binding, and placed 
it among the coffee cups before Frau Rollmaus, 
w'ho looked by no means pleased at seeing the 
secret source of her intelligence laid bare before 
aU eyes. 

“And ours is new’er than yours,” cried the 
little Franz, waving his hand. In vain did Use 
endeavour by signs of disapprobation to suppress 
this outbreak of family pride. Hans held the 
last volume firmly in his hands seeking the word 
gipsy, and the overthrow of Frau Rollmaus, 
according to human calctdations, could no longer 
be averted. But suddenly Hans sprang up, and 
holding the book aloft, exclaimed, “ The Flerr 
Professor is put down here ! ” 

“Our Herr Professor in the Conversation- 
Lexicon ? ” cried the children. 

Family feuds and gipsies were all forgotten. 
Use took the book from her brother’s hand, Herr 
Rollmaus, stood up in order to read the remark- 
able passage over Use’s shoulder, all the chil- 
dren’s heads gathered round the book, so that 
they looked like a cluster of buds on a fruit- 
tree, and all peeped curiously at the lines which 
were so glorious for their guest and themselves. 

In the article there was the usual short notice 
concerning living scholars, which contained the 
place and day of the Herr Professor’s birth, and 
the titles — mostly in Latin — of his works. AU 
these titles were, in spite of their unreadable lan- 
guage, read aloud, with the the dates and forms. 
Use looked long in the book, and then handed 
it to the astonished Frau Rollmaus, then the 
children passed it from one to the other. The 
event made a greater impression hero, on both 
young and old, than it ever did in literary circles. 
Happiest of aU was Frau Rollmaus : she had sat 
next to a man who not only could refer to books, 
but was referred to himself. Her admiration of 
him was unbounded ; she found, for the first 
time in her life, that she could hold agreeable 
intercourse with a man of this stamp. 

“ What a distinguished scholar ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “ Wliat were the titles of his works, 
dear Use ? ” 

Use did not know; her eyes and thoughts 
were fixed on the short notice of his life. 

This discovery had the good result of causing 
Frau Rollmaus to lay down her weapons entirely 
this day, and be content not to display any 
knowledge, for she saw that on this occasion a 
competition with the family was impossible, and 
she condescended to an unpretending conver- 
sation over household events. But the children 
arranged themselves at a respectful distance 
from the Professor, and examined him curiously 
once more from top to toe ; and Hans imparted 
the news in a low voice to the Doctor, and was 
much surprised that he thought nothing of it. 

After coffee, the Propi'ietor proposed to his 
guests to ascend the nearest hill, in order to con- 
template the damage which had been done by 
the lightning. Use loaded a maid with provisionji 


THE LEARNED LADY FROM THE COUNTRl". 


3 ? 


for supper, and some flasks of wine, and the 
party put themselves in motion. They went 
down from the rock into the valley, over the 
strip of meadow and the brook, then up the 
declivity of the hill, through underwood amidst 
the shaidow of the lofty pines. The rain had 
w'ashed away the steep path, and irregular water 
channels furrowed the gravel j nevertheless, the 
women walked valiantly over the wet places. 
Rut if any one should have failed to perceive from 
the dress and bearing of the Professor that he 
iwalked in the confidence of manhood, they might 
have imagined that he was a delicately-shod lady, 
and Frau.RoUmaus a gentleman in ^sguise, for 
she hovered round him reverently, and would 
not leave his side. She made him aware of the 
stones, and pointed out to him the dry places 
with the end of her umbrella, and stopped some- 
times, expressing her fear that the path would 
be too disagreeable to him. The Professor 
submitted, though much surprised, to the homage 
of the little lady, only looking sometimes in- 
quiringly at Dse, over whose face flitted a 
roguish smile. On the height the path became 
easier, and some trees of lighter foliage varied 
the dark green of the pines. The summit itself 
was clear; the heather, on which the fading 
blossoms of the year still hung, spread itself 
thickly amongst the stones. One surveyed the 
landscape on aU sides, with its heights and 
valleys, the deep glen, and brook with its green 
border, the fields and the valley of Rossau. In 
the direction of the setting sun there rose, one 
behind another, long waves of undulating ground, 
tinted with the purple hue of twilight, passing 
off into the delicate grey of the mountains in 
the horizon. It was a delightful prospect, under 
a clear sky, in the midst of pure mountain air, 
and the party reposed with satisfaction on the 
soft heather. 

After a short rest, they proceeded, led by 
Hans, to the spot where the tree had been 
struck by lightning. A belt of high fir-trees 
was the place of devastation. A strong, vigor- 
ous pine had been struck and prostrated; a 
desolate confusion of branches and gigantic 
splinters of the white wood lay all around the 
broken stem, which, without its head, blackened 
and cloven, still rose out of its ruins to the height 
of a house. From the confusion of branches on 
the ground, it was perceptible that the earth also 
had been torn up even under the roots of the 
neighbouring trees. The elders of the party 
looked seriously on the spot where one moment 
had turned vigorous life into frightful deformity ; 
but the children pressed on into the thicket 
shouting, seized upon the scaly cones of the past 
year, and cut branches from the top, each en- 
deavouring to carry off the greatest clusters of 
the scaly fruit. 

** It is only one of a hundred,” said the Pro- 
prietor, gloomily; “but it is grievous to con- 
template such devastation contrary to the usual 
order of Providence; and to think of the de- 
struction that impended over our heads.” 

“Does this recollection cause you only dis- 
satisfaction ? ” asked the Professor ; “ does it not 
also give higher views ? ” 

“ The horns of the ram hanging on the 
branches,” said Use, in a low tone, to her father ; 
“ he was the sacrifice by which w'e were saved.” 


“ I think also,^^ added the Professor, “ that 
any one thus struck by lightning might, if time 
were left him for a last thought, say to himself 
it is the will of Providence. We soon forget, in 
the comforts of daily life, what we should 
always thankfully bear in our hearts, that wo 
only live, like all other creatures, under certain 
conditions. Countless forces and heterogeneous 
powers unceasingly work according to their own 
fixed laws, maintaining, supporting, or injimiug 
our life. The cold which checks the course of 
our blood, the breaking waves in which the hu- 
man body sinks, the injurious vapours from the 
earth which poison our breath, are no acci- 
dental phenomena ; the laws by which they act 
upon us are as ancient and holy as our need 
of food and drink, of sleep and light ; and when 
man w'eighs his position among the powers of 
earth, he must consider his life only as a 
struggle against them and an endeavour to 
understand them. In this work we also observe 
that there is a secret union between every move- 
ment of nature and our own spirits, and that 
everything living, however adverse to individual 
existence, forms together a vast unity.” 

Thus spoke the Professor. Frau Rollmaus 
stood reverently with her hands folded over her 
parasol, occasionally nodding her assent. At 
last she tapped the Proprietor, gently whispering, 

“ That belongs to the philosophy of which we 
spoke.” 

The Proprietor did not answer, but listened 
with bent head. Use never turned her eyes 
from the speaker; his observations sounded 
strange to her, and excited a secret uneasiness, 
she knew not why. But she could say nothing 
against them, for the spring of genial life that 
issued from this noble soul entranced her. The 
choice of words, the new thoughts, the noble 
expression of his countenance, captivated her 
in'esistibly. 

The party returned to their resting place on 
the height ; the sun sank behind the hills ; and 
the mild evening light gilded first the tips of 
the heather, then rose above their heads to the 
tops of the trees, and purple shadows covered 
the ground, the stems of the trees, and the 
distant prospect. But small light clouds of 
gold and purple floated in the heaven above, till 
there also the glowing colours faded into rosy 
twilight ; the mist rose from the depths below, 
and the colours of the earth and the heavens 
died away into a uniform grey. 

Long did the party gaze on the changing 
lights of the evening. At last the Proprietor 
called out for the contents of the basket ; the 
children were busy unpacking and offering the 
cold meats to the assembled circle. The Pro- 
prietor poured out the wine, and pledged his 
guests and rejoiced in the fine evening. At a 
sign from his fiither, Hans ran into the thicket 
and fetched out some pine torches. 

“ There is no danger to-day,” said the Pro- 
prietor, to Herr Rollmaus, whilst lighting the 
torches. 

The children pressed forward to be torch- 
bearers, but only Hans was trusted with this 
honourable office. The gentlemen carried the 
others. 

Slowly did the procession wind dovm the 
hill -path ; the torches tln*ew a glaring light on 


38 


THE LOST MANITSCKIPT. 


copse and stones, and on the faces of the men, 
which in the curves of the road were lighted up 
with a glow like the rising moon, and again 
disappeared in the darkness. Frau Ilollmaus 
had endeavoured several times to di’aw the other 
great stranger into conversation ; she now at 
last succeeded, when in a bad part of the road. 
She began : — • 

“ What your friend said was very good, for it 
was full of instruction. He is right ; one ought 
to struggle against the powers, and seek the 
connecting link. But I assure you it is difficult 
for a woman. For Rollmaus, who is the first 
power of nature for me, has a hatred of prin- 
ciples ; he is always for doing everything accord- 
ing to his own ideas, and, as an upright man, he 
has a right to do so j but he is not very much 
in favour of learning, and even with respect to 
a piano for the children, I have a difficulty with 
him. But I seek after principles and powers, 
and what is called the connecting link ; and one 
reads what one can, for one likes to know what 
passes in the .world, and to raise oneself above 
ordinary people. But often one does not under- 
stand a thing even when one reads it twice ; 
and when at last one has achieved it, one finds, 
perhaps, that it has become obsolete, and no 
longer worth anything, and so one might as well 
give up all researches.” 

“ You should not do that,” exclaimed the 
Doctor ; “ there is always a secret pleasure in 
knowing anything.” 

“ Not so,” continued the lady ; nffien I lived 
in the town I immersed myself in learning, butj 
in the country one is so much alone, and there 
is the housekeeping and one’s husband, and one 
has much to do to content him. You have no 
idea what a worthy fellow he is. Rollmaus, 
hold your torch aside, all the smoke pufis in the 
face of Herr Doctor.” 

Rollmaus turned the torch away grumbling. 
His wife drew close to him, seized his arm, and 
raised herself up to his ear : 

“Before we go away you must invite these 
gentlemen to come to us ; it is the right thing 
to do.” 

“ He is a hedge preacher,” answer the hus- 
band, peevishly. 

“ For God’s sake, Rollmaus, do nothing fool- 
ishly; above all, do not blaspheme,” she con- 
tinued, pressing his arm ; “ he is in the lexicon.” 

“ In yours ? ” asked the husband. 

“ In the one here,” replied the wife, “ which 
is all the same.” 

“ There are many things in books that are of 
less value than others which are not there,” said 
the husband, unmoved. 

“ I am not to be put off in that way. You 
will not confute me by that,” replied the wife. 
“ I tell you that he is a man of renown, and pro- 
priety demands that we should take that into 
consideration, and you understand what concerns 
propriety.” 

“ Only be quiet,” said Rollmaus, soothingly. 
" I say nothing to the contrary, if needs be ; 
I have eaten many a som apple on your ac- 
count.” 

“ On my account ! ” cried the w ife, offended. 
“ Have I been unreasonable — am I a tyrant — 
am I an Eve who h:is stood with her husband 
under the tree, with loose hair, and not even a 


chemise ? Will you compare yoimself and me 
with such a state of things ? ” 

“ No,” said Rollmaus. “ Only be content ; 
you know how we get on together.” 

“ Don’t you see that I am right ? ” replied 
the wife, softened. “ Believe me, I know also 
how others get on together, and I tell you I 
have a presentiment that something is brewing.” 

“ Who brews ?” asked Rollmaus. 

“ It is betwixt Use and the Professor.” 

“ That would be the devil to pay,” exclaimed 
Herr Rollmaus, with more vivacity than he had 
shown the whole day. 

“ Quiet, Rollmaus, you will be heard ; do not 
lose all discretion.” 

Use had remained behind ; she led her 
youngest brother, who, from fatigue, faltered in 
his steps. The Professor chivalrously lingered 
by her. He pointed out to her how well the 
procession looked ; the torches, like large glow- 
worms, in front; behind, the sharply-illuminated 
.figures, and the flickering of the gleaming light 
upon the stems and green branches of the trees. 
Use listened to him long in silence. At last she 
said : 

“ The most charming thing of the day has 
been your speaking so kindly to our neighbour. 
When she was seated by you, I felt troubled in 
spirit, for I thought it would be humiliating to 
you to have to listen to the inappropriate ques- 
tions of our friend, and it all at once struck me 
that with respect to us also you must use con- 
stant consideration, and that tormented me. 
But when I saw that you so kindly recognised 
the good that is to be found in our friend, 1 felt 
that it would cost you no great effort of self- 
command to hold intercoui'se with us simple 
folk.” 

“ Dear young lady,” exclaimed the Professor, 
anxiously, “I hope you are convinced that I 
only said to the worthy lady what came sincerely 
from my heart ? ” 

“ I know it,” cried Use, with vivacity, ** and 
the honest soul felt it also herself — she has been 
quieter and more cheerful than usual the whole 
day — and therefore I thank you. Yes, from my 
heart,” she added, softly. 

Praise fi’om the lips of a beloved one is not 
among the least of the pleasures that a man 
enjoys. The Professor looked beaming with 
happiness at his neighbour, who now in the 
darkness followed her brother at a quicker pace. 
He did not venture to break the silence ; the 
pure hearts of both were revealed, and, with- 
out speaking a word, they became conscious 
of a stream of wann feeling passing from one 
to the other. 

“ The pedantic habit of reading,” began the 
Professor, at last, “ makes it easier, perhai)s, for 
one to gather from a different style of life what 
may be serviceable to one’s own ; for there is 
something estimable about every mode of life, 
although it may be somewhat veiled by certain 
peculiarities.” 

“ We are commanded to love our neighbours,” 
said Use, “and we endeavour to do so; but 
when one finds that this love is given so cheer- 
fully and nobly, it is touching; and whon one 
sees such feeling displayed, it becomes an 
example, and elevates the heart. Come, Franz,” 
she said, turning to her brother, “ it is not faa 


NEW HOSTILITIES. 


39 


fi’om home.” But Franz stumbled, and, half 
asleep, declai*ed that his legs ached. 

“ Up with you, little man,” cried the Pro- 
fessor ; “ let me carry you.” 

Use, distressed, tried to prevent it. “ I can- 
not allow that ; it is only sleep that makes him 
80 lazy.” 

“Only till we reach the valley,” said the 
Professor, raising the child on his shoulder. 
Franz clasped his arms round his neck, and, 
clinging close to him, was soon fast asleep. 
When they came to a steep turn of the road, 
the Professor olfered the arm which was free to 
his companion, hut she refused, only supporting 
herself a little with his offered hand. Thus hand 
and hand they walked down the last part of the 
hill into the valley, neither of them speaking a 
word. Wlien they arrived at the bottom. Isle 
gently withdrew her hand, and he let it go with- 
out word or pressure; but these few minutes 
comprised for both a world of happy feelings. 

“ Come down, Franz,” said Use, taking her 
sleeping brother from the arm of her friend. 
She bent down to the little one to encourage 
him, and they went on to join the party, who 
were waiting for them at the brook. 

The carriage of the Crown-Inspector drew 
up. The parting greetings of his wife were 
overflowing, and her representations had miti- 
gated his obstinacy, so that, cap in hand, he 
made up his mind to take, with tolerable de- 
corum, a bite of the afore-mentioned sour apple. 
He approached the literary gentlemen, and 
begged them to grant him also the pleasure of 
a visit, and even the utterance of these friendly 
words had a softening influence on his honest 
spirit. He now held out his hand to them, and 
receiving a hearty shake, he began to think that 
the strangers were not in reality so bad as might 
be supposed. The Proprietor accompanied his 
guests to the carriage, Hans passed the band- 
box in, and both the gentlemen, as they bade 
each other good night, regarded the heavens 
with the eyes of counoisseuz’s. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Whilst a bright female form was intervening 
between the Professor and the Doctor, fate de- 
creed that a new feud should arise betwixt the 
two neighbouring houses in the city. It hap- 
pened thus. 

Herr Hahn had availed himself of the absence 
of his son to beautify his property. His garden 
ran in a point up to the park, and he had be- 
thought him much how this corner might be 
turned to good account ; for the little elevation 
which he had thrown up there, and planted with 
roses, seemed unsatisfactory. He deteriziined, 
therefore, to ei’ect a waterproof summer-house 
for such visitors as were not inclined in bad 
weather to resort to the house. All had been 
wisely considered befoi’e the departure of his 
Bon. The following day he caused a slender 
wooden structui’e to be erected, with small win- 
dows towards the street, and above, instead of a 
roof, a platform with benches ; the laths of the 
Toof pi-ojected boldly into the air, over the 
wooden ■walls and garden palings. Tlio thing 1 


looked w^ell ; but when Herr Hahn, with hearty 
satisfaction, led his wife up the small side steps 
on to the platform, and the plump lady, not an- 
ticipating anything wrong, sat down on the airy 
bench, and from thence looked with admiration 
on the world beneath her, it became apparent 
that the passengers in the street passed directly 
under her, and the sky above them was darkened 
to whoever passed along the fence by the plum- 
age of the great bird thzit, perched on her high 
seat, turned her back to the street. Before a 
quarter of an hour, therefore, had passed, such 
sharp remarks were heard, that the inoftensivfe 
Frau Hahn was on the point of weeping, and 
declared to her lord, with unwonted energy, that 
she would never again allow herself to be treated 
as a hen, or ascend the platform any more. The 
family frame of mind was not improved either 
by the part that Herr Hummel had taken, for 
he had stood by the fence of his neighbour’s 
garden during this exhibition of Frau Hahn, 
and had laughed insultingly at the vile speeches 
of the people. 

Hahn, however, after a short struggle betwixt 
pride and discretion, listened to the voice of his 
better self, removed the benches and the plat- 
form, and erected over the summer-house a beau- 
tiful Chinese roof ; but on the projections of this 
roof he hung small bells, which sounded softly 
when the wind rose. This idea would have been 
a decided improvement ; but, ahis ! the wicked- 
ness of man gave no rest to this work of art : 
for the urchins in the street diverted themselves 
by keeping some of the bells in movement by 
means of long switches. On the first night, 
therefore, the neighbourhood was awakened from 
its slumbers by a concert of many -toned beUs. 

It appeared to Herr Hahn in his sleep that 
winter was come, and that a merry party of 
sleighs were passing round his house ; he list- 
ened, and indignantly discovered that his own 
bells had been excited into activity. He hastened 
into the garden in his night-di’css, and called 
out, angrily : 

“ Who is there ? ” 

In a moment the ringing ceased, deep silence 
and peaceful quiet reigned around. He went up 
to the garden-house, and looked at his bells, 
which might be seen swinging under the 
darkened sky ; but all around no one was to bo 
discovei’ed. He went back to his bed ; but 
scarcely had he laid himself down, when the 
noise began again, quick and loud, as if pealing 
for a Christmas gift. Again he rushed out ot 
the house, and again the noise ceased; but when 
he raised himself above the railing and looked 
around, he saw in the garden opposite the broad 
figure of Herr Hummel standing by the hedge, 
and heard a threatening voice call out : 

“ What crazy fancy is this ? ” 

“ It is inexplicable, Herr Hummel,” exclaimed 
Herr Hahn, across the street, in a conciliatory 
tone. 

“Nothing is inexplicable,” cried out Herr 
Hummel, “ but the mischievous folly of hang- 
ing bells in the open air over a public street.” 

“ I repel your attack,” called out Herr Hahn, 
deeply wounded. “ I have a right to hang up 
what I like on my own piece of ground.” 

Now there began a conflict of opposing views 
across the street. There Hummel’s bass, here 


40 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


Hahn’s shai'p voice, which gradually rose into a 
counter-tenor ; both figures in long night-dresses, 
divided by the street and railings, but like two 
heroes of antiquity fighting one another with 
strong language. If one failed to perceive the 
wild effect given to Herr Hahn by the red colour 
of his night-dress, yet he might be seen tower- 
ing upon the height near his Chinese temple, 
raising his arms imposingly from the misty 
horizon, but Herr Hummel stood in the darkness 
overshadowed by the wild vine. 

“ I wiU have you before the police-court, 
because you disturb the repose of the citizens,” 
cried Herr Hummel, at last, but felt the small 
hand of his wife at his back, who seized him by 
his night-dress, turned him round, and gently 
entreated him not to make a scene. 

“And I will inquire before the court who 
gave you a right to heap abuse upon me across 
the street,” called out Herr Hahn, likewise in 
the act of retiring, for amidst the noise of the 
tight he had occasionally heard the soft M^ords — 
“ Come back, Hahn,” and seen his wife behind 
him wringing her hands. But he was not in a 
disposition to abandon the field of battle. 

“A light and ladder here,” he exclaimed. 
“ I will find out this shameful trick.” 

The ladder and lanterns speedily made their 
appearance, brought by the frightened maid- 
servant. Herr Hahn mounted up to his bells, 
and sought long in vain ; at last he discovered 
some one had contrived to unite the separate 
bells by a plait of horsehair, and thus had rung 
them from the outside by one rope. 

This wild night was followed by a dreary 
morning. 

“ Go to the man over the way, Gabriel,” said 
Herr Hummel, “and ask if, for the sake of 
peace, he is willing immediately to take away 
the bells. I require my sleep, and I will not 
suffer that this night rabble should be allured to 
my house, make inroads upon the fence, steal 
my plums, and break into my factory. This man 
calls together by his ringing all the rogues of 
the neighbourhood.” 

Gabriel replied — “ I will go over there for the 
sake of peace; but only if I may say with 
civility W'hat I think fit.” 

“ With civility ? ” repeated Hummel, W’ink- 
ing slyly at his confidant. “ You do not under- 
stand your own interest. So fine an oppor- 
tunity of making yourself important will not 
occur again soon, and it would be a pity to let it 
escape you. But I forsee, Gabriel, that, civil or 
not, we shall be unable to deal with the man. 
He is malicious and obstinate and bitter. He 
is a bulldog, Gabriel. There, you have his 
character.” 

Gabriel proceeded to poor Herr Hahn, who 
sat, still suffering, befoi'e his untasted breakfast, 
and looked suspiciously at the inmate of the 
hostile house. 

“ I come only to inquire,” began Gabriel, 
adroitly, “ wdiether you may, perhaps, have re- 
ceived inteUigeuce through your son of my 
master ?” 

“ None,” answered Herr Hahn, sorrowduUy j 
“ there are times when everything goes VTong, 
dear Gabriel.” 

“ Yes, what a roguish trick was piayed last 
night,” said Gabriel, pityingly. 


Herr Hahn sprang up. 

“ He called me insane and a coxcomb. Am 1 
to put up with that ? I, a man of business, and 
in my own garden ! W^ith respect to the play- 
thing, you may ho right enough, — one must not 
put too much confidence in men. But now my 
honour is touched, and I tell you the bells shall 
remain, and I shall place a watchman there 
every night.” 

In vain did Gabriel speak rationally to him. 
Herr Halm was inexorable, and called after him 
again as he was leaving : 

“Tell him we shall meet again before the 
tribunal.” 

Accordingly he went to his attorney, and in- 
sisted upon laying a complaint on account of 
injurious language at night. 

“Good,” said Hummel, when Gabriel re- 
turned from his fruitless mission. “ These 
people compel me to take measures of security 
for myself. I will take care that no strange 
horaehair shall be attached to my house. When 
the rogues sound the bells there, the dogs shall 
bark here. Measure for measure, Gabriel.” 

He went gloomily to his factory, and paced 
wildly about. His bookkeeper, who appeared 
to be a much-oppressed man, because he never 
could hit it off* right with Herr Hummel, 
thought it was his duty, and that it was a 
fitting time to speak. 

“ The ideas of A. C. Hahn are absurd ; all 
the world finds fault with them.” 

But the speech did him no good. 

“ What do this man’s ideas signify to you ?” 
cried Hummel. Are you a householder, and 
are you or I principal of this business ? If I 
choose to be angry it is my affair and not yours. 
His new clerk, Knips, w’ears his hair in frizzy 
curls, and perfumes himself with eau do 
cologne ; you may make fun of him about that, 
this is your right. As to what concerns the 
rest of the world, your blame of this man’s 
devices is worth about as much as the twitter- 
ing of the sparrow on the housetop ; and if he 
should hang every day a peal of bells on his 
shoulders and go thus into the counting-house, 
he would still remain, as far as regards this 
street rabble, a respectable citizen. Only, with 
respect to me it is another thing. I am his 
neighbour day and night, and if he crumbles his 
bread into his soup my spoon also falls into it. 
For the rest I object to all calumnies on my 
fellow-men. What must be said is my business 
^one, Avithout associates : be mindful of that.” 

A few evenings later, Gabriel was standing 
before the house-door, looking up to the heavens 
and watching whether a small black cloud, 
which was slowly floating past, would cover the 
face of the moon. Just as this took place, and 
the street and both houses lay in darkness, a 
carriage drove up to the house, and the voice of 
the master called out : “ Is all right ?” 

“All right,” answered Gabriel, and un- 
buttoned tlie apron. 

Herr Hummel descended heavily, and behind 
him was heard an angry growl. 

“ What have you got there in the darkness ?” 
asked Gabriel, with much curiosity, putting his 
hands into the carriage, but he quickly withdrew 
them. “ Will the rough beast bite ?” 

“ Yes, I hope so,” replied Herr Hummel, “ it 


NEW HOSTILITIES. 


41 


ought to hite. I have brought some watch-dogs 
against the heU-ringers.’* 

He pulled out with a rope two indistinct 
figures, which rushed about yelping hoarsely, 
circled round Gabriel’s legs viciously, and drew 
the cord round him like a noose. 

“ Need you bring such a multitude ?” cried 
out Gabriel ; “ there are two of them.” 

The moon had overcome the clouds, and 
lighted up both dogs. 

“ They are strange beasts, HeiT Hummel ; 
they are a curious race — evidently mongrels,” 
he continued, in a depreciating tone ; “ scarcely 
of middle size, thick in form, and with shaggy 
hair; the bristles hang over the muzzle like 
mustachios. The mother must have been a 
poodle, the father an ape ; there must also have 
been some relationship with a pug, and the 
great-grandfather must have been a terrier. A 
tine production, Herr Hummel, and somewhat 
rare. How did you come by these moon-calves ?” 

“ That was a peculiar accident. I could not 
obtain a dog in the village to-day ; but when I 
was returning through the wood, the horses 
shied and would not move on. Whilst the 
coachman was handling them, I perceived 
suddenly near the carriage a large black man, 
standing as if he had sprung from the ground. 
He was holding the two dogs by a rope, and 
laughed jeeringly at the abuse of the coachman. 

‘ What are you ?’ I called out to him ; ‘ where 
are you taking the dogs ?’ 

“ ‘ To him who wishes to have them,’ said the 
black man. 

“ ‘ Lift them into the carriage,* said I. 

“‘I do nothing,’ growled out the stranger ; 

* you must fetch them.’ 

“I descended and asked, *What do you 
require for theih ?’ 

“ ‘ Nothing,’ said the man. 

“ The atiair appeared to me suspicious, but I 
thought one can at least try them. I lifted the 
beasts into the carriage ; they were quiet _ as 
lambs. ‘ What do you call the dogs ?’ I cried 
out from the carriage. * 

“ ‘ Brauhahn and Gose,’ said the man, laughing 
like a devil.” 

“ I'hose are no dogs’ names, Herr Hummel,” 
interposed Gabriel, shaking his head. 

“I said that to the man, and he replied, 

‘ They have not been baptized.’^ ‘ But the rope 
is yours,’ I said; and only think, Gabriel, this 
black fellow answered me ; ‘ Keep it ; you may 
hang yourself with it.’ I wished to throw the 
dogs again out of the carriage, but the man 
laid vanished into the wood like a will-o’-the- 

wisp.” (j 

“ That is a bad story,” cried Gabriel, much 
troubled ; “ these dogs have been reared in no 
Christian house. And will you really keep such 

hobgoblins ?” , 

“ I will make the attempt,’ said Herr 
Hummel. “ After all, a dog is a dog.” ^ 

“ Be careful, Herr Hummel : there is some- 
thing mysterious in the beasts.” 

“ Stupid nonsense !” 

“They are monsters,” continued Gabriel, 
counting on his tingers ; first, they have not the 
names of earthly dogs;^ secondly, they are 
otiered without money ; thirdly, no man knows 
what these beasts will eat.” 


“ As to their appetite, you will not have to 
wait long,” replied the master of the house. 

Gabriel drew a bit of bread out of his pocket, 
and the dogs snapped at it. “ In this respect 
they are of the right species,” he said, a little 
tranquillised ; “ but what are they to bo called 
in your house ?” 

“ The Brauhahn may remain as he is,” replied 
Herr Hummel ; “ but in my family no dog shall 
be called Gose. I cannot bear this drink.” Ho 
cast a hostile look at the neighbouring house. 
“ Other people have such stuff fetched every day 
across the street, but that is no reason why I 
should suffer such a word in my household. The 
black shall from this day forth be called Briiu- 
hahn, and the red SpeiAaAw — that is settled.” 

“ But, Herr Hummel, those are clearly in- 
jurious names,” exclaimed Gabriel ; “ that will 
make the matter w'orse.” 

“ That is my affair,” said Herr Hummel, de- 
cidedly. “ At night they shall remain in the 
yard ; they must guard the house.” 

“ So long as they do but preserve their bodies,” 
said Gabriel, warningly ; “ but this kind come 
and vanish as they please, — not as we wish.” 

“ Yet they are not of the devil,” rejoined Herr 
Hummel, laughing. 

“ WTio speaks of the devil ?” replied Gabriel, 
quickly. “There is no devil — that the Pro- 
fessor will never allow; but of dogs one has 
examples.” 

So saying, Gabriel took the animals into 
the hall. Herr Hummel called out into the 
room: “Good evening, Philippine; here, I have 
brought you something.” 

Frau Hummel came to the door with a light, 
and looked astonished at the present, which 
whined at her feet. This humility disposed the 
lady to regard them with benevolence. 

“ But they are frightful,” she said, dubiously, 
as the red and the black sat down on each side 
of her, wagging their tails and looking up at hei 
from under their shaggy eyebrows. “ And why 
are there two ?” 

They are not formed for exhibition,” re- 
turned Herr Hummel, in a pacifying tone ; 
“they are country goods, — one is only a de- 
puty.” 

After this presentation they were carried off 
to a shed. Gabriel tried once more their capa- 
city of eating and drinking : they showed them- 
selves thoroughly satisfactory in this respect^ 
though not distinguished dogs as far as per- 
sonal beauty, and Gabriel went to his room free 
from anxiety. 

When the clock struck ten, and the gate 
w’hich divided the courtyard from the street was 
closed, Herr Hummel went down himself to the 
dogs’ shed in order to initiate these new’ watchers 
in their calling. He was much astonished, on 
opening the door, to find that they did not re- 
quire any encouraging words from him, — both 
creatures rushed between his legs out into the 
yard. As if di-iven by an invisible whip, they 
coursed round the house and factory without 
ceasing,— always together, and never silent. 
Hitherto they had been depressed and quiet; 
now, either on account of the good food they 
had devoured or because thoir night watch had 
come, they became so noisy that even Herr 
Hummel drew back in astonishment. Theuf 


£2 


THE LOST MANUSCRllT. 


hoarse short bark overpowered the horn of the 
night watchman and the call of their master, 
who wished to recommend moderation to them. 
They chased M ildly round the court incessantly, 
and a continuous yelping aecompanied their 
stormy race. The MindoMS of the house Mere 
opened. 

“ This M'ill be a stormy night, Herr Hummel,” 
cried out Gabriel. 

“ But, Henry, this is insupportable,” cried 
out his wife, from her bedroom. 

“ It is only their pleasure at first,” said Herr 
Hummel, consolingly, and M ithdraM ing into the 
house. 

But this view appeared to be an error. 
Throughout the whole night the barking of 
the dogs sounded from the courtyard. In the 
liouscs of the neighbourhood, also, shutters M'cre 
throM'n open, and loud words of reproach ad- 
di*esscd to Herr Hummel. The folloM ing morn- 
ing he arose in a state of uncertainty. Even 
Ids own citizen sleep had been disturbed by the 
reproaches of his wife, m Iio now sat at breakfast 
angry and alllicted M ith headache. When he 
entered the courtyard, and gathered from his 
people the annoyances they had borne from the 
neighbours, even he hesitated for a moment 
M'hether he should keep the dogs as an addition 
to his household. 

Ill luck M ould have it that just at this mo- 
ment the porter of Herr Hahn entered the court- 
yard, and M’ith defiant mien announced that 
Herr Halm must insist upon Herr Hummel re- 
moving this unexpected barking, or he should 
be obliged to seek redi'ess at the police-court. 

This attack of his opponent decided the in- 
M’ard struggle of Herr Hummel. 

“ If 1 can bear the barking of my dogs, other 
people can do so. The bells play there and the 
dogs sing here, and if any one M ill hear my vieM S 
before the police-court he Mill hear enough.” 

He returned into the house, and stepped M ith 
dignity up to his suffering M ife. 

“You are my wife, ITiilippiue; you are a 
clever Moraan, and I Mill yield to you in every- 
thing M'herein you show a rational M’ill.” 

“ Shall two dogs come betM eeu you and me ?” 
asked the M-ife, Mith faltering voice. 

“ Never,” replied Herr Hummel ; “ there 
must be domestic peace, and your headache is 
annoying to me, and 1 M’ould to please you have 
removed the beasts. But 1 have come into con- 
tact again uith this coxcomb. For the second 
time he threatens me with justice and police. 
My honour is at stake, and 1 can no longer give 
in. Be a good wife, Philippine, and try to bear 
it some nights with cotton mooI in your ears, 
till the dogs have got accustomed to their 
work.” 

“ Henry,” replied the M’ife, M’carily, “ I have 
never doubted your heart ; but your character is 
rough, and the voices of the dogs are too hor- 
rible. Can you, in order to establish your M’iU, 
see your wife suffer, and become seriously ill, 
from sleeplessness ? Will you, in order to main- 
tain your character, sacrifice peace Mith the 
neighbourhood ?” 

“ 1 do not desire that you should be ill, but 
I will not give auay the dogs,” replied Herr 
Hummel, seizing his felt hat, and going Mith 
heavy steps to the factory. 


If Herr Hummel indulged in the hope that he 
had ended the domestic sti-uggle as conqueror, 
he M’jts greatly in error. There Mas still another 
poM’er in his home, who opened the campaign in 
a different manner. When Hummel approached 
his desk in his little counting-house, he sum- near 
the inkstand a nosegay of fioM ers. Attached to 
the pink ribbon hung a note, M hieh M as sealed 
v^ ith a forget-me-not, and addressed — “ To my 
dear Father.” 

“ That is my bright-eyed maiden,” he mur- 
mured, and opening the note, read the folloM ing 
lines : — 

“ Hear papa, good morning — the dogs cause 
us gi’cat anxiety — they are much too frightful, 
and their bark is horrible— do not keep M hat 
increases discord and disturbs the neighbours. 
Be noble, papa, magnanimous and good.” 

Hummel laughed so heartily that the M’ork 
in the factory stopped, and every one M as amazed 
at his good humour. Then he marked the 
note with the date of its reception, put it in his 
pocket-book, and after the examination of the 
letters M’hich arrived, he betook himself into the 
garden. He looked at his little daughter 
sprinkling the beds M’ith her M’atering-pot, and 
his heart sM elled M ith a father’s pride. With 
what grace she turned and bent, and hoM’ her 
dark locks hung round the blooming face, and 
how actively she raised and sm ung the M utering- 
pot; and M’heu she placed it doM u on perceiving 
liim, and held her finger tlu’cateningly at him, 
he M as quite enchanted. 

“ Verses again,” he called out to her, “ I have 
received Number Nine.” 

“ And you will be my good papa,” cried 
Laura, hastening toM ards him and stroking his 
chin ; “ send them auay.” 

“Look you, child,” said the father, com- 
posedly. “ 1 have already spoken to your 
mother about it, and 1 have already explained 
to her M hy I cannot get rid of them. Now 1 
cannot do, to please you, Mhat 1 have not 
yielded to your mother ; that Mould be contrary 
to all .family rule. Eespect youi’ mother, little 
Hummel.” 

“ You are a hard-hearted father,” replied the 
daughter, pouting ; “ and see, you are unjust in 
this afiair.” 

“ Oh, oh ! cried the father, “ do you come 
over me so ? ” 

“ What harm does that ringing of the bells up 
there do to us ? The little summer-house is 
jiretty, and M hen M e sit in the garden in the 
evening, and there is a breeze, and the bells 
tingle gently, that sounds mcU — it is like 
Mozart’s Zauberfidte.” 

“There is no opera here,” cried Hummel, 
irritably, “but public streets; and M’heu my 
little dogs bark you can equally have your 
theatrical ideas, and imagine that you are in 
the M’olf's holloM’ — in the Ireischutz.” 

“No, my father,” answered the daughter, 
eagerly, “you are unjust to these people; for 
you M’ish to play them a trick, and that vexes 
me to my heart's core. It is not Morthv of mv 
father.” ’’ ^ 

“ Y'et you must bear it,” replied Hummel, 
doggedly, “ for this is a quarrel bctM’ixt men. 
There are paragraphs of police regulations, and 
1 there are you Mith your pretty verses, and M'iih 


NEW HOSTILITIES. 


4& 


respect to the names, it is possible that other 
voids like Adolar, Ingomar, and Marquis Posa, 
might soand better to you women. But this is 
no reason for me ; my names are practical. As 
regards flowers and books, I will do much to 
please you, but in the matter of dogs I cannot 
take poetry into consideration.” So saying, he 
turned his buck upon his daughter, and endea* 
voured to rid himself of this dispute. 

Laura hastened, however, to her mother’s 
room, and the ladies took counsel together. 

“ The noise was bad enough,” complained 
Laura, “ but the names are terrible. I cannot 
use these words, and you ought not to suffer our 
people to do so either.” 

“ Dear child,” answered the experienced 
mother, “ one has to pass through much in this 
world which is unpleasant, but what most 
gi'ieves me is that which is done against the 
dignity of women in their own houses. I shall 
say no more on the subject. As concerns the 
name of Brauhahn, I hear it refers to a drink of 
the neighburhood, and therefore may be excused, 
and we must yield something to your father. 
But with respect to the other designation, I 
agree with you it would be an insult to our 
neighbour. But if your father was to discover 
that behind his baek we called the red dog 
Phoebus, or Azor, it would make matters worse.” 

“ No one at least must give utterance to the 
bad name who is anxious for my friendship,” 
said Laura, decidedly, and entered into the 
courtyard. 

Gabriel w’as employing his leisure in making 
observations on the new comers. He was fre- 
quently attracted to the dogs’-shed in order to 
establish the certainty of the earthly nature of 
the strangers. 

“ What is your opinion ? ” asked Laura, 
approaching him. 

“ I have my opinion,” answered the servant, 
peering into the interior of the shed; “ namely, 
that there is something there. Did you remark 
the song of those ravens the other night ? no 
true dog barks like that ; they whine and moan 
betwixt whiles ; they groan and speak like little 
children. Their food is of the usual sort, but 
their mode of life is not of this earth. See, 
now they cower down, as if they had a blow on 
the mouth, because the sun shines on them. 
And then, dear young lady, the name ? ” 

Laura looked with curiosity at the beasts. 

“ We will alter the names secretly, Gabriel ; 
this one shall only be called Rothe.” 

“ That would certainly be better, it would at 
least not be an insult to Herr Hahn, but only to 
the cellarer.” 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” 

“The porter who lives out there is called 
Eothe.” 

“Then,” decided Laura, “the red monster 
shall fjom henceforth be named Das Andere,* 
and our people shall call him thus. Tell this to 
the workmen in the factory.” 

“ Andres ! ” replied Gabriel. “ The name wdll 
just suit him. It will be too much honour to 
him.” 

Thus were kind hearts occupied in preventing 
the bad signification of the name ; but in vain, 

• Das andere means “the other.” 


for, as Laura justly remarked, when the ball of 
mischief has been thrown amongst men, it hits 
mercilessly the good as well as the bad. The 
dog was supplied with the most inotfensive name 
that ever was given ; but through a wonderful 
complication of circumstances, which bid de- 
fiance to all human sagacity, it happened that 
Herr Hahn himself bore the name of Andres. 
Thus the double name of the animals was a double 
aflrout to the neighbouring house, and bad and 
good intentions mingled together in a thick 
black soup of hatred. 

While still early, Herr Hummel hastened to 
appear at the door, and defiantly, like Ajax, called 
the two dogs by their hostile names. The porter, 
Rothe, heard the call in the cellar, hastened to his 
master’s room, and informed him of this horrible 
aftront. Frau Hahn endeavoured not to believe 
the thing, and maintained that they should, at 
least, wait for the confirmation of it. This con- 
firmation did not fail ; for at noonday Gabriel 
opened the door of the place where the dogs 
were confined, and made the creatures come out 
for a quarter of an hour’s suu in the garden. 
Laura, who was sitting amidst her flowers, and 
was just lookingout for her secret idesd — a famous 
singer, whom she expected would pass by, with 
his glossy black hair and military glance — deter- 
mined, like a courageous maiden, not to peer 
after her favourite through the foliage of the 
vine arbour, and turned towards the dogs. In 
order to accustom the red one to his new name, 
she enticed him with a bit of cake, and called 
him several times by the unfortunate name, 
“ Andres.” At the same moment, Dorchen 
I’ushed to Frau Hahn, saying : 

“ It is true : now even the Friiulein Laura 
calls it by the Christian name of our master.” 

Frau Hahn stepped much shocked to the 
window, and heard herself the name of her dear 
husband. She retreated quickly, for this insult 
of her neighbour’s brought tears into her eyes, 
and she sought for her pocket-handkerchief, to 
wipe them away unperceived by her maid. 
Madame Hahn was a good woman, calm and 
agreeable, with a slight tendency to a pretty 
plumpness, and with a constant inclination to 
wipe away the dust with a white duster. But 
this heartlessness of the daughter roused her 
anger. She instantly fetched her cloak from 
the cupboard, and went with the utmost deter- 
mination across the street to the hostile garden. 

Laura looked up astonished from the hideous 
dogs to the unexpected visitor, who came towards 
her with dignified steps. 

“I come to complain, young lady,” began 
Frau Hahn, without further greeting; “the 
insults that have been heaped upon my husband 
from this house are insupportable.^ For your 
father’s conduct you are not responsible ; but I 
think it shocking that a young maiden like you 
should join in these outrages ! ” 

“ What do you mean, Madame Hahn ? ” asked 
Laura, w’ith excited countenance. 

“ I mean the aflront of giving a man’s name 
to dogs. You call your dogs by all my husband’s 
names.” 

“ That I have never done,” replied Laura. 

“ Do not deny it,” cried out Frau Hahn. 

I never speak an untruth,” said the maiden, 
proudly. 


14 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


My husband’s naiue is Andreas Halm, and 
vhat you cull this beast is heard by the whole 
neighbourhood from your own mouth.” 

Laura’s pride was roused. “ This is a mis- 
understanding, and the dog is not so called. 
What you say is unjust.” 

“ How is it unjust ? ” returned Frau Hahn. 
“ In the morning the father, and in ttie after- 
noon the daughter, calls him so.” 

A heavy weight fell on Laura’s heart; she 
felt herself dragged down into an abyss of 
injustice and injury. Her father’s conduct 
paralyzed her energies, and tears burst from her 
eyes. 

“ I see that you feel at least the injury that 
you are committing,” continued Frau Hahn, 
more calmly. “ Do not do it again. Believe 
me, it is easy to annoy othei’S, but it is a sorry 
business, and my poor husband and I have not 
deserved it of you. We have seen you grow up 
before our eyes ; and even though we have had 
no intercourse with yom’ parents, we have 
always been pleased with you, and no one in our 
house has ever wished you evil. You do not 
know what a good man Hahn is, but still you 
ought not to have behaved so. Since we have 
dwelt here we have experienced many vexations 
from this house ; but that you should partake of 
your father’s views gives me great pain.” 

Laura endeavoured in vain to dry her tears. 
“ I repeat to you that you do me injustice ; more 
I cannot say in my justification, nor will I. 
You have grieved me more than you know, and 
I must be satisfied that 1 have a good conscience 
towards you.” 

With these words she hastened into the house, 
and Frau Hahn turned her back on the hostile 
house, uncertain as to the result of her visit. 

Laura paced up and down her little room 
UTinging her hands. Innocent, and yet guilty 
in spite of her good will, wounded to the 
quick, dragged into a family hatred — the 
misery of which she could not avoid seeing 
— she reviewed the events of the past day 
with excited mind. At last she seated her- 
self at her little writing-table, took out her 
secret journal, and entrusted her sorrows to this 
silent friend bound in violet leather. She sought 
comfort from the souls of others who had borne 
up nobly under similar griefs, and at last found 
the confirmation of her experiences in a beautiful 
passage of a poet : “ Reason becomes folly, kind- 
ness torment; woe to thee that thou art a 
descendant.” Had she not wished to do what 
was reasonable and kind, and had not folly and 
torment arisen from it ? and had not misfortune 
befallen her without her fault, because she was 
a child of that house ? With this sentence she 
closed a passionate etfusion. But in order not 
to appear to her own conscience devoid of aftec- 
tion, the poor child wrote immediately under- 
neath these words ; “ My dear, good father.” 
Then she shoved the book back, a little com- 
forted. 

But the severest humiliation to her was the 
feeling that she would be judged unjustly by the 
people over the way ; and she crossed her arms 
and thought how she could justify herself. She, 
indeed, could do nothing; but there was an 
honourable man who of all in the house could best 
be employed as confidant, who had healed her 


canary-bird when ill, and removed a stain from 
the nose of her little bust of Schiller. She 
resolved, therefore, to tell only to the faithlul 
Gabriel what Frau Hahn had said, and not tc 
her mother unless obliged. 

It happened that towards evening Gabriel and 
Dorcheu entered into conversation in the street. 
Dorchen began to make bitter complaints of 
the spitefulness of Hummel, but Gabriel earnest- 
ly advised her to this eflect : “ Do not allow 
yourself to be dragged into these disputes. 
There must be some neutrals. Be an angel, 
Dorchen, and bring peace and goodwill into the 
house ; for the daughter is innocent.” Where- 
upon the history of giving the name was spoken 
of, and Laura honourably acquitted. Then 
when Gabriel a little later said, as if acciden- 
tally : “ This matter is set right ; and Herr 
Hahn has said that it had at once appeared to 
him improbable that you should be so ill dis- 
posed to him,” — a heavy w'eight fell from her 
heart, and again her soft song sounded through 
the house, but she did not yet become tranquil. 
For the annoyance to the neighbouring house 
caused by her father’s anger still remained. 
Alas ! she could not restrain that violent spirit, 
but she must endeavour secretly to atone for 
his injustice. She pondered over this whilst 
undressing late at night; but when in bed, 
after conceiving and rejecting many projects, 
the right idea suddenly struck her ; she jumped 
up at once, lighted her candle, and ran in her 
night-dress to the writing-table. There she 
emptied out her purse, and counted over the 
new thalers that her father had given her at 
Christmas and on her birthday. These thalers 
she determined to spend in a secret method of 
reparation. Highly pleased, she took the 
precious purse to bed with her, laid it under her 
piDow, and slept peacefully upon it, although 
the wild career of the spectre dogs raged round 
the house horribly and incessantly. 

The following morning Laura UTote in large 
stiff characters, on an empty envelope, the name 
and dwelling of Herr Hahn, and atfixed a seal 
on which was the impression of a violet with 
the inscription, “ I conceal myself,” and put the 
cover in her pocket. Having to go into the 
town to make some purchases, she went down a 
lane to a nui’sery-gardener, who was personally 
known to her. There she bought a bushy plant 
of dwarf orange, full of flower and golden fruit, 
— a splendid specimen of the greenhouse ; she 
carried it with beating heart in a close droschky, 
till she found a porter, to whom she gave an 
ext; aordinary gratuity, and bade him take the 
plant and cover, without greeting or word of 
any kind, to the house of Herr Hahn. 

The man performed the commission faithfully. 
Dorchen discovered the plant in the hall, and 
it caused an agreeable excitement in the Hahn 
family, — fruitless imaginations, repeated inspec- 
tion, and vain conjectures. When at noon 
Laiu-a peeped through the vine arbour into the 
garden she had the pleasure of seeing the orange 
plant occupying a distinguished place in front 
of the whiki Muse. Beautifully did the white 
and gold of the shrub glitter across the street. 
Laura stood long behind the vine branches, 
unconsciously folding her hands. Her soul was 
unbmdened of the injustiee, and she turned 


ONCE MORE TACITUS. 


45 


lom the hostile house with a feeling of proud 
tatisfaction. 

Meanwhile there was a police complaint and 
legal suit pending betwixt the two houses, 
which was seriously increased on that very day 
by the adoption of the name “ Spiehahn/’ 

Thus the peace iu house and neighbourhood 
was still disturbed. At first the pealing of the 
bells had excited public opinion against Herr 
Hahn, but this was entirely altered by the 
introduction of the dogs : the W'hole street went 
over to the man of straw ; the man oiftU had 
all the world against him. Hut Herr Hummel 
cared little for this. In the evening he sat in the 
garden on the upturned boat, looking proudly 
at the neighbouring house; whilst Brauliahn 
and the other sat at his feet blinking at the 
moon, who in her usual way looked down mali- 
ciously on Hummel, Hahn, and all the rest of 
the world. 

It happened on the following night that 
amidst the barking of dogs and moonshine, aU 
the bells were torn down from the Chinese 
temple of Herr Hahn, and stolen. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

OuE people know that all things lie under the 
claws of the Evil One. Whoever has anything 
to seek must call out, “ Devil, take thy claws 
away.^^ Then it suddenly appears to the eyes of 
men, it was so easy to find ; one has gone round 
it a hundred times ; one has looked above and 
under it ; and one has sought it in the most im- 
probable places, and never thought of the nearest. 
Undoubtedly it was so with the mauusci'ipt; it 
lay under the clutches of the Evil One or of a 
hobgoblin, quite close to the friends ; if they 
were to stretch out their hands they might lay 
hold of it ; the acquisition w^as only hindered 
by one consideration, by the question. Where ? 
AVliether this delay was to be a great or little 
torment to both the scholars was still doubtful. 
Nevertheless, one might do away with even this 
uncertainty; the main point w'as, that the 
manuscript really existed, and lay somewhere. 
In short, the matter stood, on the whole, as well 
as possible ; the only thing wanting was the 
manuscript. 

“ I see,” said the Doctor, to his friend, “ that 
you are strenuously exerting yourself to culti- 
vate the grown-up young lady. I plant the 
manuscript iu the souls of the younger genera- 
tion. Hans, the eldest, is very far from 
partaking of the ideas of the father and sister ; 
he shows an interest in the old treasure, and if 
we ourselves should not succeed iu making the 
discovery, he will at some future period not spare 
the old walls.” 

In conjunction with Hans, the Doctor began 
secretly his investigations. In quiet hours,when 
the Proprietor was unsuspectingly riding about 
his farm, and the Professor working in his room, 
or sitting iu the honeysuckle arbom*, the Doctor 
went prying about the house. In the smock- 
frock of a labourer, which Hans had brought to 
his room, he searched the dusty corners of the 
hoxise high and low. More than once he 
frightened the fema le servants of the household. 


by suddenly emerging from behind some old bin 
in the cellar, or by appearing astride on one of 
the rafters of the roof. In the dairy a hole had 
been dug for the forming of an ice-pit; the 
labourers had gone away at noon, and the 
mademoiselle went unsuspectingly close to the 
uncovered wall. There she beheld, suddenly, a 
head without a body, with fiery eyes and bristly 
hair, which was slowly groping along the 
ground, and turned its face to her with a 
mocking laugh. She uttered a shrill cry, and 
rushed into the kitchen, where she sank fainting 
on a stool, and was only revived by the sprink- 
ling of water and encouraging words. At 
dinner she was so much troubled that every one 
was struck by it, and at last it appeared that 
the devilish head was to be found on the 
shoulders of her neighbour, who had secretly 
descended into the hole in order to examine 
the masonry. 

On this occasion the Doctor discovered, with 
some degree of malicious pleasure, that the 
hospitable roof which defended him and the 
manuscript from rain, stood over an acknow- 
ledged haunted house. There were strange 
creakings in the old building; spirits were 
frequently seen, and the accounts only difiered 
as to whether there was a man in a grey cowl, a 
child in a white shirt, or a cat as large as an ass. 
Every one knew that there was in all parts a 
knocking, rattling, thundering, and invisible 
throwing of stones; and sometimes all the 
authority of the Proprietor and his daughter 
was necessary to prevent an outbreak of panic- 
terror among the servants. Even the friends, 
iu the quiet of the night, heard unaccountable 
sounds, gi-oans, thundering noises, and startling 
knocks on the waD. These annoyances of the 
house the Doctor explained to the satisfaction of 
the Proprietor, by his theory of the old walls. 
He made it clear that many generations of 
weasels, rats, and mice, had bored through the 
solid walls, and laid out a system of covered 
passages and strongholds. Therefore every 
social amusement and every quai-rel which took 
place among the inmates of the wall made 
themselves perceptible iu gloomy noises. Hut 
the Doctor listened with quiet vexation to the 
secret noises of his wall neighbours ; for if these 
blustered round the manuscript so excitedly, 
they threatened to render difficult the futiue 
labours of learning. Whenever he heard a 
violent gnawing he could not help thinking they 
were again eating away a line of the manuscript, 
which would make a multitude of conjectures 
necessary; and it was not by gnawing alone 
that this colony of mice would disfigure the 
manuscript that lay underneath them. 

Hut the Doctor was compensated by other 
discoveries for the great patience which was 
necessary under these circumstances; he did 
not confine himself to the house and adjoining 
buildings; he searched the neighbourhood for 
old popular traditions which here and there 
lingered in the spinning-room, and worked in 
the shaky heads of old beldames. On the 
second day after this, he secretly made ac- 
quaintance, by means of the wife of one of the 
labourers, with a dealer iu legendary lore in the 
neighbouring village. Alter the dear old 
w oman had recovered from her fir st alarm at 


i6 


THE LOST MANUSCIIIPT. 


the title of the Doctor, and the fear that he had 
come to rebuke her on account of incompetent 
medical practice, she sang to him, with trembling 
voice, the loved songs of her youth, and related 
to him more than the hearer could transcribe. 
Every evening the Doctor brought back to the 
house written sheets, and soon found in his 
collection all the well-known characters of our 
popular legends — wild hunters, devilish hags, 
three lute maidens, many monks, some shadowy 
water Pixies, sprites who appeared in the story 
as artizan lads, but undeniably sprang from a 
merman ; and finally many small dwarfs. 
Sometimes Hans accompanied him on these 
excursions to the country people, in order to 
prevent these visits from becoming known to 
the father and daughter. Kow, it is certainly 
possible that here and there a hole in tlie earth 
or a well in the field might be provided with 
spirits without any foundation ; for, as the wise 
women of the village observed how much the 
Doctor rejoiced in such communications, the old 
inventive power of the people awoke from a 
long slumber; but, on the whole, there was 
shown on both parts towaids one another Ger- 
man truth and conscientiousness; and, besides, 
the Doctor was not a man who could be easily 
taken in. 

Once when he was returning to the castle 
from such visits he met the labourer’s wife on a 
lonely footpath, fche looked cautiously round, 
and at last acknowledged that she could impart 
sonjething to him if he would not betray Ler to 
the Pioprietor. The Doctor promised inviolable 
secrecy. Upon this the woman stated that in 
the cellar of the castle, on the eastern side, in 
the right-hand coiner, there was a stone, denoted 
by three crosses ; behind that lay the treasure. 
She bad heaid this from her giandfather, who 
had it from his father, who had been a servant 
in the castle ; and at that time the then Crown 
Inspector had w ished to raise the treasure, but 
when they went for that purpose into the cellar, 
there had been such a fearful crash and such a 
noise that they ran away in terror. Put that 
the treasure was there was certain, for she had 
herself touched the stone, and the sign w as dis- 
tinctly engraven on it. The cellar was now- 
used for wine, and the stone was hidden by a 
wooden trestle. 

The Doctor received this communication with 
composure, but deteimine-d to set on loot inves- 
tigations lor liimsclf. He did not say a word 
cither to the Professor or to his friend Hans, 
but watched lor an oppoitunity. His confidant 
sometimes hei self tallied the wine which was 
always placed before the guests to the cellar and 
back. The next morning he lollowed her boldly ; 
the woman did not say a w oi d as he entered the 
cellar behind her, but pointed shyly to a eorner 
in the wall. The Doctor seized the lamp, 
shoved half a dozen llasks from their places, and 
groped for the stone : it was a laige hew n stone 
w ith three crosses. He looked significantly at 
the woman, — she afterwaids related in the 
strictest confidence that the glass shields before 
his eyes shone at this nuiment so fearfully in the 
light of the lamp, that she had become quite 
tonified,— but went silently up again, deter- 
mined to employ this discoveiy on the first 
opportunity in dealing with the Proprietor. 


But the greatest surprise still awaited the 
Doctor ; his quiet labour w as supported by the 
deceased Brother Tobias himself, — nay, as it 
w-ere, consecrated by the close of the life of this 
pious martyr. The friends descended one day 
to Kossau, accompanied by the Proprietor, who 
had business in the tow n. He conducted the 
friends to the Burgomaster, whom he requested 
to lay before the gentlemen, as trustworthy men, 
whatever old writings were existing. The Bur- 
gomaster, who was a respectable tanner, put on 
his coat and took the learned men himself to 
the old monastery. There was not much to be 
seen ; only the outer w alls of the old building 
remained; the minor officials of the crown 
dwelt in the new parts. With respect to the 
archives of the council the Bui gomuster sug- 
gested the probability that there would not be 
much found in them ; he recommended the gen- 
tlemen in this matter to the town -clerk, who 
went himself to the shooting-gallery, in order, 
after his heavy ministerial duties, to have 
some quiet fun alone. The town-clerk bowed 
respectfully to his literary colleagues, laid hold 
of a rusty bunch of keys, and opened the old 
safe of the council-house, wheie the ancient 
records, covered with thick dust, awaited the 
time in which their quiet life was to be ended 
under the stamping machine of a paper mill. 
The town-cleik had some knowlecge of the 
papers; he understood fully the innortance of 
ihe ccmmuuication which was expected frem 
him, but assured them with perfect truth that, 
owing to two tires in the town and the disorders 
of former times, every old history had been lest. 

T here were also no re coi ds to be found in any 
private house ; only in the printed chronicles of 
a neighbouring town some notices were pie- 
served concerning the fate of Bossau in the 
Thirty Years’ War; after that the place had 
been a heap of ruins, and almost uninhabitable. 
The town had since continued without a 
history, and the towu-cleik assured them that 
nothing was know n here of the olden time, and 
no one cared about it. Perhaps something 
might be learnt at the town-hall. 

The friends continued to walk unwearicdly 
from one clever man to airother, n.aking in- 
quiries, as in the fairy talc, alter the Lira with 
the golden feather. Two little elfs had known 
nothing, but now- there remained a third, — so 
they went to the Bornan Catholic priest. A 
little old gentleman received them with profound 
bows. The Professor explained to him that he 
was seeking iuforn.aiion cor.etrning the ultirr.ate 
fate of the moiiastery, — above all, what had hap- 
pened in his closing years to the last monk, the 
verre.ruble Tobias Bachhuber. 

“ In those days no register of deaths was 
required,” replied the ecclesiastic. “ 1 cannot 
therefore promise any information to the highly 
venerated gentlemen. Yet if it is only a question 
of yourselves, and you do not whh to extract 
anything from the old writings disadvantageous 
to the Church, 1 will introduce you to the oldest 
of the existing books.” He went into a room 
and brought out a long thin book, the edges of 
which haa been hijured by the mould of the 
damp room. “Here are some notices of my 
predecessor s who rest in the Lord ; per haps they 
may be useful to the respected gentlemen. More 


ONCE MOEE TACITUS. 


47 


I cannot do, because there is nothing else of the 
kind existing.” 

Oil the introductory page there was a register 
of the ecclesiastical diguitaries of the place in 
Latin. One of the first notices was : ” In the 
year of our Lord 1607, and in the month of 
May, the much venerated brother Tobias Bacil- 
li uber, the last monk of this monastery, died of 
the pestilence. The Lord be merciful to him.” 

The Professor showed the passage silently to 
his friend the Doctor, who wrote down the Latin 
words ; they then returned the book with thanks, 
and took leave. 

” TTie manuscript still liei in the house,^’ said 
the Professor, as they went along the street. 
The Doctor thought of the three crosses, and 
laughed quietly to himself; he had in no way 
assented to the tactics which his friend thought 
fit to adopt for the discovery of the manuscript. 
When the Professor maintained that their only 
hope rested on the sympathy which they might 
by degrees awaken in their host, the Doctor en- 
tertained the suspicion that his friend was not 
brought to this slow way of carrying on the war 
by pui-e zeal for the manuscript. 

The Proprietor, however, maintained an obsti- 
nate silence concerning the manuscript. If the 
Doctor threw out any hint upon the subject, the 
host made a sorrowful grimace, and immediately 
changed the conversation. It was necessary to 
put an end to this. The Doctor now determined 
to insist upon a decision before his departure. 
When, therefore, they were sitting together in 
the garden in the evening, and the Proprietor 
was looking cheerfully and calmly on his fruit- 
trees, the Doctor began the attack ; 

I cannot go from hence, my hospitable 
friend, without reminding you of our contract.” 

“ Of what contract ?” inquired their host, like 
one who knew nothing of the subject. 

“ Regarding the manuscript,” continued the 
Doctor, delrermiuedly, wldch lies concealed in 
this place.” 

” Indeed ! why you yourself said it was hollow 
everywhere. There would be nothing left to us 
if the house was torn down from roof to cellar ; 
besides, I thought we were to wait till next 
spring, u hen you come to us again ; for u e shall 
be obliged, under these circumstances, to dwell 
in the barns, which are now full.” 

“ The house may, as a preliminary, remain 
standing,” said the Doctor; “but if you still 
think that the monks took away their monastic 
property, there is one circumstance which goes 
against your view. We have discovered at 
Eossau that the worthy brother, who had con- 
cealed the things here in April, died of the pesti- 
lence as early as May, according to the chui’ch 
register ; here is a ‘ copy of the entry.' ” 

T’he Proprietor looked at the Doctor’s memo- 
randum book, closed it hastily, and said : 

“ Then tlie brethren have fetched away the 
property.” 

“ That is scarcely possible,” replied the Doctor, 
“for he was the last of his monastery.” 

“ Then some of the city people have taken it.” 

“ But the inhabitants of the town abandoned 
it then, and the place lay for years desolate, in 
ruins, and uninhabited.” 

“ Humph !” began the Proprietor, in good 
humeur ; “ the learned gentlemen are strict 


creditors, and know how to stand by their 
rights. Tell me, straightforwardly, Avhat you 
want of me. You must, first of all, point out to 
me some place which appears suspicious, not 
only to you, but also to the judgment of others; 
and that you cannot do with any certainty.” 

“ I know of such a place,” answered the 
Doctor, drily, “and I wish to suggest to you 
that the treasure lies there.” 

The Professor and the Proprietor looked on 
him with astonishment. 

“Follow me into the cellar,” cried the Doctor. 

A candle was lighted ; the Doctor led the way 
to the place where the wine lay. 

“ What gives you such victorious confi- 
dence ?” inquired the Professor, on the way, in 
a low voice. 

“ I suspect that you have your secret,” replied 
the Doctor ; “ leave me mine.” 

He actively removed the flasks from the corner, 
threw the light on the stone, and knocked on the 
wall with a large key. 

“The place is hollow, and the stone has a 
peculiar mark.” 

“It is true,” said the Proprietor ; “ there is 
an empty space behind ; it is certainly not small. 
But the stone is one of the foundation-stones of 
the house, and it is nowhere apparent that it has 
ever been removed from its place.” 

“ After so long a time, it would be difficult to 
determine that,” rejoined the Doctor. 

The Proprietor examined the wall himself. 

“ A large slab lies over it. It would be, per- 
haps, possible to raise the marked stone from its 
place.” He considered for a moment, and then 
continued : “ I see 1 must let you have your own 
way. I will thus make compensation for the first 
hour of our acquaintance, which has always lain 
heavy on my conscience. As we three are here 
in the cellar like conspirators, we will enter into 
an agreement. I will at once do what 1 consider 
to be very useless. In return, whenever you 
speak or write upon the subject, you must not 
refuse to bear testimony that I have given in to 
every reasonable wish.” 

“ We shall see what will happen,” replied the 
Doctor. 

“ Very well. In a stone quarry at the ex- 
tremity of my property I have some extra hands 
at work ; they shall endeavour to remove the 
stone, and then restore it to its place. Thus, I 
hope, the aftair will be for ever settled. Use, 
early in the morning let the wooden trestle be 
removed from the wine-cellar.” 

The following day the stonemasons came, and 
the three gentlemen and Use descended into the 
cellar, and looked on curiously whilst they exerted 
their power with pick -axe and crowbar on the 
square stone. It was placed upon the rock, and 
great exertions were necessary to loosen it. But 
the people themselves declared that there was a 
great cavity behind, and worked with a zeal that 
was increased by the repute of the haunted 
house. At last the stone was moved, and a 
dark opening became visible. 'I'he spectators 
approached nearer, both the scholars in anxious 
suspense ; their host and his daughter also full 
of expectation. The stonemasons speedily seized 
the light, and held it before the opening. A 
slight vapour came out; the man di*ew back 
frightened. 


48 


THE LOST ilANUSCRIPT. 


“Witliin there lies something white,” he 
ci’ied, betwixt fear and hope. 

Use looked at the Professor, who with diffi- 
culty controlled the excitement which worked 
in his face. He grasped at the light, hut she 
kept it from him, and cried out, anxiously, 
“ Not you.” She hastened to the opening, and 
thrust her hand into the hollow space. She laid 
hold of something tangible. A rattling was 
heard; she quickly withdrew her hand; hut, 
terrified, threw what she had laid hold of on the 
ground. It was a piece of hone. 

“ This is a serious answer to your question,” 
exclaimed the Proprietor. “ We pay a dear price 
for the sport.” 

He took the light and himself searched the 
opening : a heap of bones lay there. The others 
stood around in uncomfortable silence. At last 
the Proprietor threw a skull out into the cellar, 
aud cried out cheerfully, as a man who is re- 
lieved from painful feeling : 

“ They are the bones of a dog ! 

“It was a small dog,” assented the stone- 
mason, striking the bone with his iron. The 
rotten bone broke in pieces. 

“A dog!” cried the Doctor delighted, for- 
getting for a moment his blighted hope. “ That 
is instructive. The foundation wall of this house 
must be very old.” 

“ I am rejoiced that you are contented with 
this discovery,” replied the Proprietor, ironically. 

But the Doctor would not be disconcerted, 
and related how, in the early middle ages, there 
had been a superstitious custom of enclosing 
something living in the foxmdation wall of solid 
buildings. The custom descended from the 
ancient heathen times. The cases are rare where 
such things are found in old buildings, and the 
skeleton of a beast is an indisputable confirma- 
tion. 

“If it confirms your views,” said the Pro- 
prietor, “ it confirms mine also. Hasten, men, 
to replace the stone.” 

Now the stonemason lighted up and felt again 
in the opening and declared there was nothing 
more there. The workmen restored the stone to 
its place, the wine was moved back, and the 
aflair finished. The Doctor bore the jeering 
remarks, of which the Proprietor was not spar- 
ing, with great tranquillity, and said to him : 

“^\^lat we have discovered is certainly not 
much; but we know now with certainty that 
the manuscript does not lie in this part of your 
house, but in another. I take with me a careful 
record of all the hollow places in your house, 
and we do not give up our claims with respect to 
this discovery ; but we consider you from this 
time as a man who has bon’owed the manuscript 
for his own private use for an indefinite time, 
and I assure you that our wishes and desires will 
incessantly hover about this house.” 

“ Pray allow the persons who dwell there to 
participate in your good wishes,” replied the 
Proprietor, smiling, “ and do not forget that in 
your researches after the manuscript you have in 
reality found the dog. For the rest, I hope that 
this discovery will free my poor house from the 
ill repute of containing treasures, and for the 
sake of this gain I will be quite content uith 
the useless work.” 

“That is the greatest error of your life,” 


replied the Doctor, with grave consideration; 
“just the reverse will take place. All people 
who have an inclination for hidden treasure will 
take our discovery in this light, that you are 
deficient in faith, and have not employed the 
necessary solemnities, therefore the treasure is 
removed from your eyes, and the dog placed 
there as a punishment. I know better than you 
what your neighbom*s will record for posterity. 
Tarry in peace for your awakening, Tacitus, 
your most steadfast friend departs, for he w-hom 
I leave begins to make undue concessions to this 
household.” 

He looked earnestly at the Professor and 
caDed Hans to accompany him on a visit to the 
village, in order to take a grateful leave of his 
wise w’omau, and to obtain one of the beautiful 
songs of the people, of w’hich he had discovered 
traces, to take home wdth him. 

He remained long away ; for after the song 
there came to light unexpectedly a w^onderful 
story of a certain Herr Dietrich and his horse, 
which breathed fire. 

When, towards evening, the Professor was 
looking out for him, he met Use W'ho, with her 
straw hat in her hand, was prepared for a walk. 

“ If it is agi-eeable to you,” she said, “ w’e will 
go to meet your friend.” 

They walked along a meadow hetw'een 
stubble-fields, in w hich here and there grass 
was to be seen peeping up amongst the stubble. 

“ The autumn approaches,” remarked the 
Professor, “ that is the first sign.” 

“The winter appears w^earisome to some,” 
answ’ered Use ; ” but it puts us, like Till Eulen- 
spiegel, in good spirits, for we enjoy its repose, 
and think of the approaching spring ; and w hen 
the stormy winds rage round us, and the snow 
drifts to a man’s height in the valleys, w^e sit at 
home in warmth and comfort.” 

“ With us in the city the wunter passes 
almost without remark. The short days and 
the w'hite roofs alone remind us of it, for our 
work goes on independently of changing seasons. 
Yet the fall of the leaf has from my childhood 
been depressing to me, and in the spring I 
always desire to throw aside my books and 
ramble through the country like a travelling 
journeyman.” 

They were standing by a bundle of sheaves. 
Use arranged some of them as a seat, and looked 
over the fields to the distant hills. 

“ How diflerently you and I regard every- 
thing,” she began after a pause. “ We are like 
the birds which year after year joyously flap 
their wings and live here contentedly*; but you 
think and care about other times and other men 
that existed long before us ; you are as familiar 
w’ith the past as we are wdth the rising of the 
sun and the forms of the stars, and if the end of 
summer is sorrowful to you, it is equally 
sorrowful to me to hear and read of past times, 
and books of history make me very sad. There 
is so much unhappiness on earth, and it is 
alw ays the good that come to a sorrowful end. 

I then become presumptuous, and ask why has 
the dear God thus ordered it ? It is really very 
foolish to feel thus, but for that reason I do not 
like to read history.” 

“ I understand this tone of mind,” answered 
the Professor, “ where men strive against their 


ONCE MORE TACITUS. 


40 


times to establish their own w'ills, they will 
almost always in the end succumb as the 
weaker; even what seems to be successfully 
established by the strongest minds, has no 
lasting duration. Like men and their works, 
nations also pass away ; but we should not let 
•ur hearts cling to the fate of individual men or 
nations, we should endeavour to understand 
why they became great and passed away, and 
what lasting benefit the human race has gained 
by their life. Then will the narrative of their 
fate be only a veil, behind which we discover the 
working of other living powers. We find that 
in the men who break down, and in the nations 
that pass away, there is a higher secret life, 
which according to eternal laws is continually 
creating and destroying. To discover some of 
the laws of this higher life, and to feel the 
blessing which this creating and destroying has 
brought to our existence, is the task and the 
pride of the historical inquirer. From this 
point of view’, destruction and dissolution are 
changed into new' life, and increasing certainty 
and elevation of heart comes to those who are 
accustomed to consider the past.” 

Use shook her head, and cast her eyes down. 

“And the Roman man whose lost book 
brought you to us, of which you have been 
talking to-day, is interesting to you because he 
has looked upon the w'orld as cheerfully as you 
have ?” 

“ No,*’ answ'ered the Professor, “ it is just the 
reverse which touches one in his work. His 
earnest spirit could never rise to joyful con- 
fidence. The fate of his nation and the future 
of mankind lay heavy on his soul as a secret 
riddle ; he perceived in the past a better time, 
freer governments, stronger characters, and 
purer morals ; he perceived a decline in his 
people and in the state, which even good go- 
vernors could no longer retard. It is striking 
how the thoughtful man doubts W’hether this 
fearful fate of millions is the punishment of the 
Deity, or the result of there being no God who 
cares for the lot of mortals. Forebodingly and 
ironically he contemplates the history of indi- 
viduals, and his best wdsdom is to bear the 
inevitable silently and patiently. Mdien, even 
for a moment, a brief smile curls his lips, one 
perceives that he is looking into a hopeless 
desert ; one can imagine fear visible in his eyes, 
and the rigid expression which remains on one 
w’ho has been shaken to the innermost core by 
deadly horrors.” * 

“ That is sorrow’ful,” exclaimed Use. 

“ Yes, it is fearful, and it is difficult to un- 
derstand how' any one could bear such a hope- 
less life. The pleasure of belonging to a nation 
of growing vigour was not then the lot of the 
healhen, for the highest and most indestructible 
happiness of man is to have confidence in that 
which exi^ts, and to look w’ith hope to the 
future, and such is our life now’. Much that is 
weak, corrupt, and perishable, surrounds us ; 
but with it all grow’S up an endless abundance 
of youthful vigour. The root and the stem of 
our popular life are sound. We find every- 
where domestic life in families, respect for 
morals and law^, hard but valuable labour, and 
active energy. In many thousands exists the 
fonsciousness that they increase the national 
4 


strength, and in millions that are still far be- 
hind them, the feeling that they also are striving 
to contribute to our civilisation. This is our 
pleasure and honour in modern times, and helps 
to make us valiant and proud. But we know 
w’ell that the joyful feeling of this possession 
may also be saddened, for temporary distur- 
bances come to every nation in the course of 
their development. But their pow’er of thriving 
cannot be thwarted, nor its career hindered, so 
long as the pow’er and soundness of these 
securities are existing. It is this that gives 
happiness to one whose vocation it is to investi- 
gate the past, for he looks down from the healthy 
air of the heights into the darkness beneath 
him.” 

Use gazed on him w’ith w’onder and admira- 
tion, but he bent over the sheaves which were 
betw’een them, and continued with enthusiasm : 

“Each one forms the judgment and mood 
with w’hich he contemplates the great relations 
of the world according to the course of his own 
personal experiences. Here you look around on 
the laughing summer landscape, there on the 
busy men in the distance, and on what lies 
nearer your heart, your own home, and the circle 
in W’hich you have grown up. How’ mild is the 
light, how w’arm the hearts, how’ sensible, good, 
and true the hearts of those that surround you ! 
You may believe how’ valuable it is to me to see 
this, and eiyoy it by your side, and if henceforth, 
w hen occupied with my books, I feel deeply how 
noble and worthy is the life of my countrj’men 
around me, I shall ever have to thank you for it.” 

He stretched out his hand across the sheaves ; 
Use seized it and clasped it betw'een hers, whilst 
her W’arm tears fell upon it. She looked at him 
with her moistened eyes, whilst a whole w’orld 
of happiness lay in her countenance. Gradually 
a bright glow’ suffused her cheeks, she rose, and 
a look full of devoted tenderness fell upon him ; 
then she stepped hastily aw’ay from him along 
the meadow’. 

The Professor remained leaning against the 
sheaves, the w’ood-larks on the tips of the 
branches over his head warbled joyfully, he 
buried his face in the corn heap w hich half con- 
cealed him; thus, in happy forgetfulness, he 
w’atched the maiden, wdio was descending to- 
wards the distant labourers. 

When he raised his eyes his friend w’as stand- 
ing by him, he beheld a countenance which 
quivered with inw'ard sympathy, and heard the 
gentle question : 

“ Wliat will come of it ? ” 

“ Husband and wife,” said the Professor, 
decidedly ; he pressed his friend’s hand, and 
strode across the fields to the songs of the larks 
which greeted him from every sheaf. 

Fritz W’as alone ; the w’ord w’as spoken ; a new 
and awful fate overshadowed the life of the 
friend. So this is to be the end of it ? Thus- 
nelda, instead of Tacitus — ah, the social inven- 
tion of marriage might be very honourable, that 
Fritz felt deeply ; it w’as inevitable to almost all 
men to pass through the uprooting struggle 
which is the consequence of a change in the 
mutual relations of life. He could not think 
of his friend amidst his bc^oks, with his col- 
leagues, and this w’onian added on. He felt 
paini'ully that his relation with the Professor 


50 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


must be altered by it. But he did not think 
long of himself, he felt doubtfully ami anxiously 
about this rash one ; and not less about her who 
had so dangerously impressed the soul of the 
other. The faithful friend looked angrily upon 
the surrounding stubble and straw, and he 
clenched his fists against the deceased Bach- 
huber ; against the valley of Rossau ; nay, even 
against it, the immediate cause of the mis- 
chievous confusion — against the manuscript of 
Tacitus. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Ilse had lived an unvaried home life since 
the death of her mother. Though scarcely 
grown up, she bad superintended the house- 
keeping of the property actively; spring and 
autumn came and went ; one year rolled over her 
head like another; her father and sisters, the 
property, the labourers, and the poor of the 
valley, — these formed her life. More than once 
a suitor had asked her in marriage of her father, 
a sturdy, worthy proprietor of the neighbour- 
hood ; but she felt contented with her home, and 
she knew that it would be agreeable to her father 
for her to remain with him. lii the evening, 
when the active man rested on the sofa, and the 
children were sent to bed, she sat silently by 
him with her embroidery, or talked over the 
small occurrences of the day, — the illness of a 
labourer, the damage done by a hail-storm, and 
the name of the new milch cow. It was a lonely 
country; there was much wood; most of the 
properties were small ; there were no rich neigh- 
bours ; and the father, v ho had worked his way 
by his energy until he became an opulent man, 
was no friend to general society, nor was his 
daughter. On Sunday the pastor came to dinner, 
and then the father’s farm inspectors remained 
over their cofi’ee, and related the little gossip of 
the neighbourhood; the children, who, during 
the week, were under the charge of a tutor, 
amused themselves in the garden and fields. 
When Ilse had a leisure houi- she seated herself 
in her own little sitting-room, with a book, 
out of her father’s small collection, — a novel of 
W'alter Scott, a tale of Hautf, or a volume of 
Schiller. 

But now an abundance of thoughts, images, 
and feelings had been awakened in her mind by 
this stranger. Much that in the outer world 
she had hitherto looked upon with indifierence, 
assumed an interest in her eyes. Like fireworks 
which unexpectedly shoot up, illuminating par- 
ticular spots in the landscape with their coloured 
light, his conversation threw a captivating light, 
now here and now there, on outside life. When 
he spoke — and his words, copious and choice, 
(lowed from his innermost heart — she bent her 
head as in a dream, then fixed her eyes on his 
face. She felt a respect commingled with fear 
for a human mind that soared so loftily and 
firmly above the earth. He spoke of the past as 
intimately as of the present ; he knew how to 
explain the secret thoughts of men who had 
lived a thousand years before. Ah ! she felt the 
glory and greatness of human learning as the 
merit and greatness of the man who sat opposite 
to her; the intellectual labour of many centuries 


appeared to her like a supernatural being which 
proclaimed from a human mouth things unheal’d 
of in her home. 

But it was not learning alone. When she 
looked up at him, she saw beaming eyes, a 
kindly expression round the eloquent lips; and 
she felt herself irresistibly attracted by the 
warmth of the man’s nature. Then she sat 
opposite to him as a quiet listener ; but when 
she entered her room, she knelt down and 
covered her face with her hands. In this soli- 
tude she saw him before her, and ofiered him 
homage. Thus she awoke to a new life. 

8he saw also that her father was partially 
under the same magical inlluence. At dinner, 
which used to be so silent, conversation now 
flowed as from a living spring ; in the evening, 
when formerly he used to sit wearily over the 
newspaper, much was discussed, and there were 
frequent disputes, which lasted late into the 
night; but her father, when he took his bed- 
room candle from the table, was always in cheer- 
ful humour ; and more than once he repeated to 
himself, pacing up and down, sentences that had 
been uttered by his guest. “ He is iu his way a 
real man,” he said; “in all things stable and 
sound : one always knows how one stands with 
him.” 

Occasionally she was alarmed at his opinions. 
The friends, indeed, avoided what might wound 
the deep faith of the hearer, but in the conversa- 
tion of the Professor there seemed sometimes to 
be an uncongenial conception of venerated doc- 
trines and of human duties ; and yet, what he 
maintained was so noble and good, that she 
could not guard herself from it by her own 
reasoning. 

He was often vehement in his expressions: 
when he condemned he did it in strong langnage, 
and sometimes broke out so that the Doctor, and 
even her father, withdrew from the contest. She 
thought then that he was difiereut from almost 
all men, — prouder, nobler, and more decided. 
When he expected much of others, as is natural 
to one uho had lived in closer intercourse with 
the ideal world than with real life, it frightened 
her to think in what light she must appear to 
him. But, on the other hand, this same man 
was ready to acknowledge everything that was 
good, and he rejoiced like a child when he learnt 
that any one had shown himself brave and ener- 
getic. 

He was a serious man, and yet he had become 
a favourite with the childrei^, even more than 
the Doctor. They confided to him their little 
secrets ; he visited them in their nursery, and 
gave them advice, accoidiug to his youthful re- 
collections, as to how they should make a large 
paper dragon kite ; he painted, himself, the eyes 
and the moustache, and cut the tassels for the 
tail. It was a joyful day when, for the first 
time, the dragon rose from the stubble-field. 
Then, when evening came, he sat down, sur- 
rounded by the children, like the partridge 
aniongst her young. Franz climbed up the arm 
of his chair, and played with his hair; one of 
the bigger ones sat on each knee ; then riddles 
were given and stories told; and uheu Ilse 
heard how he repeated and taught small rhymes 
to the children, then her heart swelled with joy 
that such a mind should hold such intimate in« 


ILSE. 


61 


tcrcourse with simple children ; and she watched 
his countenance, and perceived a child-like ex- 
pression lighten up the features of the man, 
laughing and happy; and she could think of 
him as he himself had been as a little boy, sit- 
ting on his mother’s lap. Happy mother ! 

Then came the hour among the sheaves, the 
learned discourse which began with Tacitus and 
ended with u silent acknowledgment of love. 
The blessed cheerfulness of his countenance, the 
trembling sound of his voice, had torn away the 
veil that concealed her own agitated feelings. 
She now knew that she loved him deeply and 
eternally, and she had a conviction that he felt 
the same as herself. He, who was so greatly her 
superior, had lowered himself to her; she had 
felt his warm breath, and the quick pressure of 
his hand. As she passed through the field, a 
gloAv suffused her cheeks ; the earth and heaven, 
fields and sun-lit wood, floated before her like 
luminous clouds. With winged feet she hastened 
down into the woody plain, where she was en- 
veloped in the foliage. Now first she felt herself 
/ alone, and unconsciously clasped a slender birch 
I stem, which shook with her convulsive grasp, 
i and its leaves were strewed all around her. She 
raised her hands to the golden light of the 
heavens, and threw herself down on the mossy 
I ground. Her bosom heaved and panted vio- 
1 lontly, and she trembled with inward excitement, 
j Love had descended from heaven upon the young 
‘ woman, taking possession of her body and soul 
-■ with its irresistible power. 

Thus she lay a long time. Summer butterflies 
played around her hair; a small lizard crept 
' over her head ; the white tips of the wild flowers 
and the branches of the hazel bent over her : as 
if these little children of natui’e wished to veil 
the deep emotions of the sister who had come to 
them in the happiest shock of her life. 

At last she rose upon her knees, clasped her 
hands together, and thanked and prayed to the 
dear God for him. 

She became more collected and went into the 
open valley, no longer the quiet maiden she was 
formerly ; her own life and what surrounded her 
shone in new’ colours, and she viewed the world 
with new feelings. She understood the language 
of the sw’allow couples which circled round her, 
and with twittering tones passed by her swift as 
arrows. It w’as the raptui-ous joy of life which 
impelled the little bodies so swiftly through the 
: air, and the birds greeted her with a sisterly 

song of jubilee. She answered the greeting of 
the labourers wdio were going home from the 
I' fields, and she looked at one of the women who 
had been binding the sheaves, and knew accu- 
rately w’hat was the state of her feelings. This 
woman also had, as a maiden, loved a stranger 
* lad ; it had been a long and unhappy attachment, 
attended by much sorrow’ ; but now she was 
comforted going w’ith him to her home, and 
w'hen she spoke to her mistress she looked 
proudly on her companion, and Use felt how 
happy was the poor w’eary w’oman. When Use 
entered the farm-yard, and heard the voices of 
the maidens who had w’aited for her in vain, and 
the impatient low’ing of the cattle, which 
Bounded like a reproach on their loitering mis- 
tress, she shook her head gently, as if the admo- 
nition W’as no longer for her, but for another. 


When she again passed from the farm build- 
ings into the golden evening light, w’ith fleet 
steps and elevated head, she perceived with 
astonishment her father standing by his horse 
ready to mount, and with him, in quiet conver- 
sation, the Doctor, and he w’hom at this moment 
she felt a difficulty in encountering. She ap- 
proached hesitatingly. 

“ Wliere have you been lingering. Use ?” cried 
the Proprietor. “ I must be otf,” and looking 
at the agitated countenance of his daughter, he 
added, “ It is nothing of importance. A letter 
from the invalid chief forester, calls me to his 
house ; one of the Court people is come, and I 
can guess w’hat they desire of me. I hope to be 
back at night.’* 

He nodded to the Doctor. “ We shall see each 
other again before your departure.” 

So saying, he trotted aw'ay, and Use w’as 
thankful in her heart for the incident which 
made it easier for her to speak w ith composure 
to the friends. She w’alked with them on the 
road along w hich her father had ridden, and 
endeavoured to conceal her disquiet by talk on 
indifferent subjects. She spoke of the hunting 
castle in the wood, and of the solitude in w hich 
the grey-headed forester dwelt amongst the 
beech-trees of the forest. But the conversation 
did not flow ; each of those noble hearts w’as 
pow'erfully touched. The Professor and Use 
avoided looking at one another, and the friend 
could not succeed, by jocose talk, in drawing the 
lovers down to the small things of life. 

Use suddenly pointed with her hand to a 
narrow pass on one side, from w’hich many dark 
heads were emerging. 

“ You see there the Indians of Frau EoU- 
maus.” 

A row’ of wild figures came on with a quick 
step, one behind the other ; in front a pow’erful 
man in a brown smock-frock and shabby hat, a 
thick stick in his hand ; behind him some young 
men, then w’omen with little children on their 
backs ; all round and about the troop ran half- 
naked boys and girls. j\Iost of the strangers 
were bare-headed, and without shoes. Their 
long black hair hung about their brow’n faces, 
and their w'ild eyes, even from a distance, stared 
eagerly on the walking party. 

“ When the autumn comes, these foreign 
people wander sometimes through our country, 
but for some years they have not ventured into 
the neighbourhood of our property.” 

The troop approached ; there was a wild rush 
from the gang, and in a moment the friends 
w’ere surrounded by ten or tw’elve dark figures, 
who pressed on them with passionate gestures, 
loud cries, and outstretched hands — men, wo- 
men, and children, in tumultuous confusion. 
The friends looked with astonishment on their 
piercing eyes and vehement mov’ements, and on 
the children, who stamped with their feet, and 
claw’ed the strangers with their hands like mad 
creatures. 

“ Back, you wild creatures,” cried Use, push- 
ing herself through the band, and placing herself 
before the friends. “Back with you; who is 
the chief of the gang ? ” she repeaksi with 
anger, and raised her arm commandingly. 

The noise w’as silenced, and a brown woman, 
not smaller than Use, with shining hair twined 


52 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


in plaits, and a colcured handkerchief on her 
head, came out from the hand, and stretched 
her hands towards Use. 

“ My children beg,” she said ; “ they hunger 
and thirst.” 

It was a large face with sharp features, in 
which traces of former beauty were visible. 
With head bent forward, she stood before the 
young lady, and her sparkling eyes passed 
peeringly from one countenance to the other. 

“ We have money only for the men who work 
for us,” answered Use, coldly. “ For strangers 
who are thirsty, there is our spring; and to 
those who are hungry we give bread. You will 
get nothing more at our house.” 

Again dozens of arms were raised, and again 
the wild crowd pressed nearer. The gipsy woman 
drove them back by a call in a foreign tongue. 

“We wish to work, Fraulein,” she said, in 
fluent German, with a foreign accent ; “ the men 
mend old utensils, and we drive away rats and 
mice from the walls ; and if you have a sick 
horse, we will cure it speedily.” 

Use shook her head negatively. “ We do not 
need your help ; where is your pass ? ” 

“ We have none,” said the woman ; “ we 
came from foreign parts,” and she pointed to 
where the sun rises. ' 

“ And where wiU you rest to-night ? ” asked 
Use. 

“We do not know ; the sun is going down, 
and my people are weary and barefooted,” re- 
plied the gipsy woman. 

“You must not rest near the farm nor near 
the village houses. The bread you will receive 
at the gate of the farm -yard; you may send 
some one there to fetch it. If you light a fire 
in one of our fields, take care not to go too near 
the sheaves ; we shall look after you. Let none 
of you stroll about the property or into the 
village to tell fortunes to people, for we do not 
permit it.” 

“ We do not tell fortunes,” answered the wo- 
man, touching with her hand a small black cross 
which she wore round her neck. “ None here 
below know the future, nor do we.” 

Use bent her head reverently. 

“ Good,” said she. “ According to the mean- 
ing which seems conveyed in your words, you 
do not remind me in vain of the communion 
which exists between us. Come youi-self to the 
gate, mother, and expect me there ; if you need 
anything for your little ones, I n'ill endeavoiu' 
to help yon.” 

“ We have a sick child, my pretty young 
Itfdy, and the boys are in want of clothes,” 
begged the gipsy woman. “ I wiU come, and 
my people shall do according to your will.” 

She gave a sign, and the wild troop tramped 
obediently along the side road that led to the 
village. The friends looked with curiosity after 
the band. 

“ That such a scene should be possible in this 
country, I coxild never have believed,” cried the 
Doctor. 

They were fonnerly quite a plague to us,” 
replied Use, with indifierence ; “ they are now 
rare. My father keeps strict order, and that 
they know right well. But we must go back 
to the farm-yard, for there can be no harm in 
caution with these thievish people.^' 


She hastened back to the farm-yard. The 
Doctor lamented heartily that his journey 
hindered him from obtaining information of the 
strangers concerning the secrets of their lan- 
guage. 

Use called the Inspector, and the intelligence 
that there were gipsies in the neighbourhood 
flew like wildfire through the farm. The 
stables were guarded, the poultry and families 
of fatted pigs were given in charge to stout 
maids, and the shepherds and the ploughmen 
received orders to keep watch at night. Use 
called the children and gave them their supper, 
and found it diflicult to control their nnriily 
spirits. The youngest were given over to 
mademoiselle, under strong protest and many 
tears, to the secure guardianship of their beds. 
Then Use collected together old gowns and 
linen, gave a maid the charge of two loaves, and 
prepared to go herself to the gate of the farm- 
yard, where the gipsy woman would await her. 
The Doctor, in his joy about the strangers, had 
cast ofl’all anxiety about his fi-icnd. 

“ Allow us to witness the interview with the 
sybil,” he begged. 

They found the gipsy woman sitting in the 
dusk before the gate. Near her was a half- 
grown maiden, with splendid eyes and long 
tresses, but scanty dress. The woman rose, and 
received with a distinguished air the bounty 
which Use handed to her. 

“ Blessings on you, young lady,” she ex- 
claimed, “ and all the happiness that you now 
wish shall be your portion. You have a face that 
promises good fortune. Blessings on your golden 
hair and your blue eyes. 1 thank j'ou,” she con- 
cluded, bov'ing her head. “ Will not the gentle- 
men also give my little maiden a remembrance ?” 
The wild beauty held out her hand. “ Her face 
is burnt by the sun ; be kind to the poor black 
girl,” begged the old one, looking furtively 
round. 

The Professor shook his head negatively. Tlie 
Doctor got out his purse and placed a piece of 
gold in the hand of the old woman. 

“ Have you given up prophesying ?” he asked, 
laughing. 

“ It brings misfortune to those who prophesy, 
and those who ask,” replied the gipsy woman. 

“ Let the gentleman be on his guard against all 
that barks or scratches, for mischief will come 
to him from dogs and cats.” 

Use and the Professor laughed; and me.'in- 
while the eyes of the gipsy woman peered rest- 
lessly into the underwood. 

“ We cannot tell fortunes,” she continued. 
“We have no power over the future, and we 
make mistakes, like others. Yet we see much, 
my beautiful young lady ; and tliough you do 
not desire it, I will tell you something. The 
gentleman near you seeks a treasure, and he will 
find it, but he must take care not to lose it ; and 
you, proud lady, will be dear to a man who wears 
a crown, and you will have the choice of becom- 
ing a sovereign ; the choice and the torment,’* 
she added in a lower tone, and her eyes again 
wandered unquietly about. 

“ Away with you,” cried Use, indignantly ; 

“ such gossip agrees ill with your words.” 

“ We know nothing,” murmured the gipsy 
woman humbly, laying hold of the sign on her 


ILSE. 


53 


neck. “We have only our thoughts, and our 
thoughts are idle or true, according to a more 
powerful will. Farewell, my pretty lady,” she 
cried out, with emphasis, and strode, with her 
companion, into the darkness. 

“ How proudly she goes away,” exclaimed the 
Doctor. “ I have a respect for the clever woman ; 
she would not tell foi’tunes, but she could not 
help recommending herself by a bit of secret 
knowledge.” 

“ She has long ago learnt all about us from 
the labourei*s,” replied Use, laughing. 

“ Where have they pitched their tents ?” 
asked the Doctor, with curiosity. 

“Probably at the back of the village,” an- 
swered Use. “ You may see their fires in the 
valley. These strangers do not like one to come 
near their camp, and see what they have for 
supper.” 

They descended slowly into the valley, and 
remained standing on the border of the brook, 
not far from the garden. AU around them lay 
the darkness of the evening on bush and meadow. 
The old house stood out on the rock, gloomy 
under the twilight grey of the heavens. Before 
their feet the water murmured, and the leaves 
of the trees were agitated by the night wind. 
Silently did the three look upon the vanishing 
forms of the landscape ; the side valley of the 
village lay invisible in the deep shadows of the 
night ; not one lighted window was to be seen. 

“ They have disappeared silently like the bats, 
which are even now flying through the air,” said 
the Doctor. 

But the others did not answer; they were no 
longer thinking of the gipsies. 

Then they heard through the still evening air 
a low whimpering. Use started, and listened. 
Again the same weak tone. 

“ The children ! ” cried Use, in dismay, and 
rushed towards the hedge which divided the 
meadow from the orchard. Much alarmed, she 
shook the closed gate, then broke through the 
hedge, and sprang like a lioness past the espa- 
liers. The friends hastened after her, but could 
not overtake her. A bright light shone among 
the trees before her, and something moved its 
she flew on. Two men rose from the ground ; 
one encountered her, but Use threw back the 
arm which was raised to strike her, so that the 
man tottered and fell down over the weeping 
children, whp lay on the gi’ass. Felix, who was 
behind Use, sprang forward and seized the man, 
whilst the Doctor the next moment struggled 
vyith another, who glided like an eel from under 
his hands, and disappeared in the darkness. 
Meanwhile, the first robber struck at the arm 
of the Professor with his knife, wrenched him- 
self away from the hand which held him fast, 
and in the next moment broke through the 
hedge. One heard the crackling of the branches, 
and then all was still again. 

“ They live ! ” cried Use, kneeling on the 
ground, with panting breath, and embracing the 
little ones, who now uttered piteous cries. It 
was Riekchcn, in nothing but her night-dress, 
and Franz, also nearly stripped. The childi’en 
had escaped from the eyes of mademoiselle and 
the protection of the bed-room, and slipped into 
the garden, in order to see the fire of the gipsies, 
of which they had heard their sister speak. 


They had fallen into tlie hands of some of the 
fellows belonging to the band, who were looking 
out for something to steal, and had been de- 
prived of their clothes. 

Use took the screaming children in her arms, 
and in vain did the friends try to relieve her of 
the burden. Silently she hastened with them 
into the house, rushed into the room, and, still 
holding them fast, knelt doum by them before 
the sofa, and the friends heard her suppressed 
sobs. But it "was only for a few moments that 
she lost her self-control. She rose, and looked 
at the servants, who thronged terrified into the 
room. 

“ No harm has happened to the children,” she 
exclaimed. “ Go where you have to keep watch, 
and send one of the Inspectors to me.” 

The Inspector stepped forward. 

“ This has been a robbery on our land,” said 
Use, “ and those who perpetrated it should be 
given up to the law. I beg of you to have them 
seized in their camp.^* 

“ Their fire is in the hollow behind the vil- 
lage,” replied the Inspector; “one may see the 
flame and smoke from the upper story. But, 
Fraulein — I say it unwillingly — ^would it not be 
more prudent to let the rogues escape ? A large 
portion of the harvest still lies in sheaves ; they 
may set it on fire in the night, out of revenge, 
or perhaps venture still worse, in order to free 
their people.” 

“ No,” exclaimed Use ; “ do not hesitate — do 
not delay. Whether the vagabonds injure us or 
not, will be decided by a higher will ; we must 
do our duty. The crime demands punishment, 
and the master of this property is in the position 
of guardian of the law.” 

“ Let us be quick,” said the Professor ; “ we 
will accompany you.” 

“Take your strongest men from the farm- 
yard,” said Use ; “ Hans and I will watch in the 
house.” She burst open the study door and 
pointed gloomily to her father’s chest of arms. 
“ Take from thence whatever our people require 
for defence.” 

“ Now I am satisfied,” replied the Inspector, 
after consideration; “the farm bailiff shall re- 
main here, and we others will seek the band at 
the fire.” 

He hastened out. The Doctor seized a 
knobbed stick that was in a corner of the room. 
“ That will suffice,” he said, laughing, to his 
friend. “ I consider myself bound to show some 
forbearance towards these thievish associates of 
my studies, who have not quite forgotten their 
Indian language.” As he was on the point of 
leaving the room he stopped ; “ But you must 
remain behind, for you are bleeding.” 

Some drops of blood fell from the sleeve of the 
Professor. 

The countenance of the maiden became white 
as the door against which she leant. “ For our 
sake,” she murmured, faintly. Suddenly she 
hastened up to the Professor, and bent down to 
kiss his hand. Felix held her back, shocked. 

“ It is not worth speaking of, Fraulein,” he 
exclaimed. “ I can move my arm.” 

The Doctor compelled him to take off* his coat, 
and Use flew for a bandage. 

Fritz examined the wound with the composure 
of an old student. “It is a slight prick in the 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 




muscles in the under part of the arm,” he said, 
comforting the Frauiein, as an expert ; “ a little 
sticking-plaster will be sufficient.” 

The Professor put on his coat again and seized 
his hat. Forwards ! ” he said. 

“ Oh, no ; remain with us,” begged Use, has- 
tening after him. 

The Professor looked at her anxious counten- 
ance, shook her heartily by the hand, and left 
the room with his friend. 

The hasty tread of the men had died away. 
Use went alone through all the rooms in the 
house; doors and windows were closed; Hans 
watched at the door opening into the courtyard, 
his father’s sword in his hand ; and the house- 
maids overlooked the courtyard and garden from 
tlie upper floor. Use entered the nursery, where 
the two little ones, surrounded by mademoiselle 
and their brothers and sisters, were sitting in 
their beds, and struggling between their last 
tears and their sleep. Use kissed the tired little 
ones, laid them down on their pillows, then she 
hastened out into the yard, now in the direction 
in which the band lay, now on the other side, 
where the clatter of horse’s hoofs might announce 
the arrival of her father. All was quiet. The 
maids from above called to her that the fire of 
the gipsies was extinguished, and she again 
hastened up and down, listening anxiously and 
looking up to the starry heaven. 

What a day ! A few hours before raised 
above the cares of earth, and now by a hostile 
band dragged back into terror and anxiety ! 
Was this to be a foreboding of her future life ? 
Were the golden doors only opened to be closed 
Again discordantly, and a poor soul to be thrown 
back upon hopeless aspirations ? The deceiver 
had prophesied of one who might wear a crown. 
Yes, in the realm in which he ruled as king 
there was a blessed serenity and happy peace. 
Ah, if it might be permitted to compare the joys 
of earth with those of heaven, such learning and 
powers of thought gave a foretaste of eternal 
glory. For thus did the spirits of those who 
had here been good and wise soar, surrounded by 
light, in pure clearness of vision, and speak smil- 
ing and happy to one another of all that had 
been upon earth ; the most secret things would 
be revealed to them, and all that was most 
deeply veiled become transparent, and they 
would know that all the pains and sorrows of 
earth proceeded from eternal goodness and wis- 
dom. And he who here trod this earth, a serene 
heaven in his heart, he was wounded in the arm 
by a wandering vagabond for her sake ; and from 
love for her he had again gone out into the fear- 
M night, and she was cut to the heart with 
endless anguish on his account. “ Defend him, 
all-merciful One,” she pi-ayed, “and raise me 
out from this darkness ; give me strength, and 
enlighten my mind that I may become worthy 
of the man who beholds Thy countenance in 
past times, and among people that have passed 
away.” 

At last she heard the quick trot, and then the 
snorting of an impatient horse at the closed 
door. “ Father ! ” she cried out, hastily drawing 
back the bolt, and flying into his arms, as he 
dismounted. The Proprietor was much perplexed 
as he listened to her rapid report. He threw his 
horse’s bridle to his son, and hastened to the 


nursery to embrace his little ones, who at tho 
sight of their father called to mind their mis- 
fortunes, and began to weep and lament. 

As the Proprietor entered the fannyard, the 
farming people drew near the house, and the 
Inspector stated “ that no one was to be seen 
near the fire or in the neighbourhood. There 
was no trace near the fire of their having en- 
camped — it had been lighted as a deception; 
theft had been their only object here; the 
greater part of the band had left early in the 
evening. They are lying concealed somewhere 
in the woods, and when the sun rises will be off 
over the border. I know the vermin of old.” 

“ He is right,” said the Proprietor, to the 
friends, “ and I think we have nothing more to 
fear; yet careful eyes must remain open this 
night. But a poor father thanks you,” he con- 
tinued, with e^notion ; “ the last day you have 
passed with us, Herr Doctor, has been unplea- 
santly eventful, which is not usual with us.” 

“ 1 undoubtedly depart in anxiety about what 
I leave behind here,” replied the Doctor, between 
jest and earnest. “That there are now still 
some of the lost children of Asia sneaking about 
these walls is beyond a joke.” 

“ We are, I hope, clear of the gipsies,” con- 
tinued the Proprietor, turning to his daughter; 
“ but you may count upon another visit in course 
of time ; our sovereign will appear before this 
house some weeks hence. I have only been 
called away to hear gossip about this visit, and 
to learn that it is not yet decided where his 
Serene Highness will breakfast before the hunt. 
I understand this hint : it was the same fifteen 
years ago. There is no help for it ; he cannot 
remain at the Dragon at Rossau ; but this dis- 
turbance also will pass away. Let us wish each 
other now good night, and sleep in peace.” 

Both friends went thoughtfully to their bed- 
room. The Professor stood by the window, 
and listened to the tread of the watchman, who 
paced round the yard, within and without, to 
the chirruping of the crickets, and to the broken 
sounds which came upon the car from the slum- 
bering fields. He heard a noise near him, and 
looked into the countenance of his faithful 
friend, who had clasped his hands in his excite- 
ment. 

“ She is pious,” cried Fritz, complainingly. 

“ Are we not so also ?” answered the Pro- 
fessor, raising himself up. 

“ She is as far removed from the tenor of your 
mind as the holy Elizabeth.” 

“She has understanding,” replied the Pro- 
fessor. 

“ She is fiiMu and self-contained in her own 
circle, but she will never be at ease in your 
world.” 

“ She has aptness here, — she will have it 
everywhen;.” 

“ You blind yourself,” cried Fritz, wringing 
his hands ; “ will you disturb the peace of your 
life by a discord, of which you cannot sec the 
end ? Will you demand of her the monstrous 
change which she must undergo from being a 
well-qualified hostess to becoming the confidant 
of your reckless investigations ? Will you rob 
her of the secure self-dependence of an active 
life, and bring into her future, struggle, uncer- 
tainty, and doubt? If you will not think of 


ILSE. 


55 


lt"1 




your own peace, it is your duty to show con- 
sideration for her life.” 

The Professor leant his hot head against the 
frame of the window. At last he began ; 

“ But we are the servants and proclaimers of 
truth ; and whilst we practise this duty towards 
everyone who will hear us, is it not right and 
a duty to do it where we love ?” 

“ Do not deceive yourself,” answered Fritz. 
“ You, a man of refined feeling, who so willingly 
perceives in every life what befits it — you would 
be the last to disturb the harmony of her being, 
if you did not desire her for yourself. "VYhat 
leads you is not a feeling of duty, but passion.” 

“ What I dare not demand of strangers, I am 
entitled to expect in the woman with whom I 
unite myself for life. And has not every woman 
that comes within our sphere to experience a 
similar change ? How high do you place the 
knowledge of the women in the city who come 
into our circle ?” 

“ What they know is, as a rule, more uncer- 
tain than is good for them or us,” replied Fritz ; 
“ but from their youth they are accustomed to 
view with sym])athy the learning that interests 
men. The best results of intellectual creations 
are so easily accessible to them, that they find 
everywhere points of union for mutual under- 
standing. But here, however charming and ad- 
mirable this life may appear to our eyes, it is 
just attractive because it is so strange and 
opposite to ours.” 

“ You exaggerate, and are not correct,” cried 
the Professor. “ I have felt deeply in these days 
that we have passed here, what we easily forget 
over our books, how great are the rights that a 
noble passion has over our life. Who can say 
what makes two human beings love each other 
so much that they cannot part ? It is not only 
pleasure in the existence of the othei*, nor the 
necessity of making one’s own being complete, 
nor feeling and fancy alone, which binds the 
stranger so intimately to us. Is it, then, neces- 
sary tliat the woman should only be the finer 
j)ipe, which always sounds the same notes that 
the man plays, only an octave higher ? Speech 
is poor to express the powerful impression of 
pleasui’e and exiAtation that I feel when near 
her ; and I can only tell you, my friend, that it 
is something good and great, and it demands its 
share in my life. What you now express are 
only the cold doubts of reason, which is adverse 
to all that is real, and continues to raise its 
pretensions until it is subdued by accomplished 
realities.” 

“ It is not alone the reason,” replied Fritz, 
offended. “ I do not deserve that you should so 
misconstrue what I have said. If it was pre- 
sumptuous in me to speak to you concerning 
feelings which you now consider holy, I must 
say in excuse that I only assume the right which 
your friendship has hitherto granted me. I 
must do my duty to you before I leave you here. 
If I cannot convince you, try to forget this con- 
versation ; I will never touch upon this theme 
again.” 

He left the Professor standing at the window, 
and went to his bed. This time he took his 
boots off, and laid himself on the bed, and turned 
his face to the wall. After a short time he felt 
his baud laid hold of, the Professor was sitting 


by his bed clasping his friend’s hand without 
saying a word. At hist Fritz withdrew his 
hand with a hearty pressure, and turned again 
to the wall. 

He rose in the early daum, approached gently 
the bed of the slumbering Professor, and then 
went quietly out of the door. The Proprietor 
awaited him in the sitting-room ; the carriage 
came ; there was a short and friendly parting, 
and Fritz drove away, leaving his friend alone 
among the crickets of the field, and the ears of 
corn, whose heavy heads rose and fell like the 
waves of the sea under the morning breeze, the 
same this year as they have done thousands and 
thousands of years before. 

The Doctor looked back on the rock on 
which stood the old house, on the terraces beneath, 
with the churchyard and wooden church, and on 
the wood which surrounded the foot of the hill ; 
and all the past and present of this dangerous 
place rose distinctly before him. The ancient 
character of the Saxon times had altered little 
here ; and he looked on the rock and the 
beautiful Use of Bielstein, as she would have 
been in days of yore. Then the rock would be 
consecrated to a heathen god, even then there 
would have been a tower standing on it, and 
Isle would have dwelt there, with her golden 
hair, in a white linen dress with an otter skin 
over it. Then she would have been priestess 
and prophetess to a wild Saxon race. Where 
now the church stood would have been the 
sacrificial altar, and the blood of prisoners of 
war would have trickled down from thence into 
the valley. 

Again, later, a Christian Saxon priest would 
have built there his timber house, and again the 
same Use would have sat between the wooden 
pillars in the raised apartment of the women, 
using her spindle, or pouring black mead into 
the goblets of the men. 

Again, a century later it would have been a 
brick house, with stone mullions to the win- 
dows, and a watch-tower erected on the rock, 
which had become a nest for predatory Junkers, 
and the Use of Bielstein again would have dwelt 
there, in a velvet hood which her father had 
robbed from a merchant on the king’s high 
road; and when the house was assaulted by 
enemies. Use would have stood amongst the 
men on the wall, and have drawn the large 
cross-bow like a knight’s squire. 

Again, many hundred years later, she would 
have been sitting in the hunting castle of a 
prince, with her father, an old warrior of the 
Swedish time ; then she would have become 
pious, and, like a city dame, have brewed beer 
at her leisure, and gone down to the pastor to 
the conventicle ; she would not have ■w'orn 
flowers, and M'ould have sought to know what 
husband heaven destined tor her by placing her 
finger at hazard on a passage in the Bible. 

And now this same Saxon child was in con- 
tact with his friend, tall and strong in body 
and soul, but still a child of the middle ages, 
with a placid expression in her beautiful coun- 
tenance which only changed when the heart 
was excited by any sudden passion ; a mind as 
if half asleep, and of a nature so child-like and 
pliant that it was impossible to know some- 
times Avhether she was astute or simple. In 


56 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


her character there still adhered to her some- 
thing of all that Use had been during the two 
thousand years, a mixture of Sibyl, mead-dis- 
penser, knight’s daughter, and pietist. She 
was of the old German type and the old German 
beauty, but that she should ever become the 
wife of a Professor, that appeared to the trou- 
bled Doctor too much against all the laws of 
quiet historical development. 


CHAPTER X. 

A FEW hours after his friend had left the 
castle, the Professor entei'ed the study of the 
master of the house, who exclaimed, looking up 
from his work : “ The gipsies have disappeared, 
and with them your friend. We are all sorry 
that the Doctor could not remain longer.” 

“ With you lies the decision whether I shall 
linger on here,” rejoined the Professor, with 
such deep earnestness that the host rose up, and 
looked inquiringly at his guest. come to 
beg of you a great trust,” continued the Pro- 
fessor, “and I must depart from hence if you 
refuse it me.” 

“ Speak out, HeiT Professor,” replied he. 

“It is impossible for us to continue any 
longer in the easy relations of host and guest. 
I seek to gain the afl'ections of your daughter 
Elise.” 

The Proprietor drew back startled, and the 
hand of the strong man grasped the table. 

“I know what I am asking of you,” cried 
the Professor, with an outburst of feeling. “ I 
am calling upon you to give me your greatest 
treasiire ; I know that it will make your life 
poorer, for I shall deprive you of that which 
has been your joy, help, and pride.” 

“And so,” murmured the Proprietor, gloomily, 
“ you anticipate what the father would say.” 

“ 1 fear that at this moment you consider me 
an intruder into the peace of your home,” con- 
tinued the Professor; “but though it may be 
difficult for you to be indulgent towards me, you 
ought to know all. I saw her first in the 
church, and the deep piety of her character im- 
pressed me powerfully. I have lived in the 
house with her, and felt more every hour how 
beautiful and loveable she is. The influence she 
exercises over me is irresistible. The passion 
with which she has inspired me has become so 
great, that the thought of being separated from 
her fills me with dismay. I long to be united 
to her and make her my wife.” 

Thus spoke the scholar, as open-hearted as a 
child. 

“And how far have you gone with my 
daughter ? ” asked the father. 

'• I have twice in an outburst of feeling pressed 
her hand,” cried the Professor. 

“ Have you ever spoken to her of your love ? ” 

“ If I had I should not stand before you now,” 
rejoined the Professor. “lam entirely unknown 
to you, and have come here through accidental 
circumstances ; and I am not in the happy posi- 
tion of a wooer who can appeal to a long ac- 
quaintance. You have shown me unusual 
hospitality, and I am bound in conscience not 
to abuse your confidence. I will not behind 


your back endeavour to win a heart which is so 
closely bound up in your life.” 

Tlie father inclined his head assentingly. 
“And have you the assurance of winning her 
love ? ” 

“I am no child, and can see that she is 
warmly attached to me. But of the depth and 
duration of the feelings of a young girl neither 
of us can judge. At times I have had the 
blessed conviction that she had a tender feeling 
for me, but it is just the unembarrassed inno- 
cence of her feelings that makes me uncertain ; 
and I must confess to you that I think it 
possible these feelings may pass aw’ay.” 

The father looked at this man who was en- 
deavouring to judge impartially, but whose 
whole frame was trembling. “ It is. Sir, my 
duty to yield to the wishes of my child’s heart, 
if they are powerful enough to induce her to go 
forth from her home to that of another man 
— always providing that I myself am not 
under the conviction that it would be detri- 
mental to her happiness. Yoim acquaintance 
with my daughter has been so short that I do 
not feel myself in the difficult position of having 
to give my consent, or to make my child un- 
happy, and your confession makes it possible for 
me to prevent what would, perhaps, in many 
respects, be unwelcome to me. Indeed you are 
even now a stranger, and when I invited you to 
remain with me I did that which may have an 
vmfortunate result for me and mine.” 

As the Proprietor spoke thus in the excite- 
ment of the moment, his eyes fell upon the 
arm which had bled yesterday, and then on the 
manly features of the pale countenance before 
him. He broke off his speech, and, laying his 
hand on the shoulder of the other, exclaimed ; — 

“ No, that is not the feeling of my heart, and 
I ought not thus to have answered you,” 

He paced through the room, endeavouring to 
compose himself, 

“ But you also must listen to a word in con- 
fidence, and do not be angry with me,” he con- 
tinued, more tranquilly. “ I know well that I 
have, not brought up my daughter for myself, 
and that I must at some time accustom myself 
to do without her ; but our acquaintance is too 
short to judge whether my child would find 
peace or unhappiness if she were united to you. 
When I tell you that I value you and take 
pleasure in your society, that has nothing to do 
with the present question. If you were a 
country gentleman like me, I should listen to 
your communication with a lighter heart, for 
during the time of your stay here I should liave 
been able to form a decided opinion of your 
qualifications. The difference of our vocations 
makes it not only difficult for me to judge of 
you, but also dangerous for the future of my 
child. If a father wishes that his daughter 
should marry a man who has similar occupa- 
tions to himself, he is justified in so doing in 
every sphere of life, and more especially as a 
country gentleman of my stamp ; for the qualifi- 
cations of our children consist partly in this, 
that they grow up as the helpmates of their 
parents. \Vliat Use has learnt in my house 
gives me the assurance that, as the wife of a 
country gentleman, she would fill her place 
perfectly ; nay, she might supply the deficiencies 


THE wooma. 


67 


of her husband, and that would secure he” a 
comfortable life, even though there were some- 
thing more to be desired in the husband. As 
the wife of a professor, she will have little 
benefit from what she knows, and she will feel 
unhappy at not having learnt many other 
things.” 

“ I admit that she will lose much, but as to 
any deficiencies in her, I think little of that,” 
cried the Professor. “ I beg you in this to trust 
to me and the future.” 

“ Then I will answer you, Herr Professor, as 
openly as you have spoken to me. I must not 
hastily decline your proposal. I will not oppose 
what may perhaps be for the happiness of my 
daughter ; and yet I cannot, with the imperfect 
insight which I have of your position, agree to 
it. I am at this moment in the painful situa- 
tion of not knowing how I can obtain this 
knowledge.” 

“ I feel well how unsatisfactory to you must 
be any opinion which you can obtain concerning 
me from strangers ; yet it must be supplied to 
you,” answered the Professor, with dignity. 

The father assented silently. 

“ First, I beg to inform you concerning my 
means of life.” 

He mentioned his income, gave a faithful ac- 
count of the sources from which he derived it, 
and laid a written statement on the writing- 
table. 

“ My legal adviser, who bears a high repute 
in the University, will give you any confirmation 
you may wish of these details. With respect 
to my capacity as teacher, and my position in 
the University, I must refer you to the judgment 
of my colleagues, and the opinion which is held 
concerning it in the city.” 

The Proprietor looked at the document. 

“ Even the significance of these sums as re- 
gards your position is not quite clear to me. I 
have scarce a clue to obtain further knowledge 
concerning your home. But, Herr Professor, 1 
will, without delay, endeavour to obtain all the 
information I can. I will to-morrow start for 
your city.” 

“ Oh, I thank you,” exclaimed the Professor, 
grasping his hand. 

“ Not yet,” answered he, withdrawing it. 

“I will, of course, if you like, accompany 
you,” continued the Professor. 

“ I do not wish tluit,” replied the Proprietor. 
“Only write letters of introduction for me to 
your acquaintances ; for the rest I must rely 
upon my own inquiries and on fate. But, Herr 
Professor, this journey will only confirm your 
statements, of the truth of which I am satisfied 
without it, and perhaps give me the judgment 
of others concerning you, which w-ill accord 
with mine. But let us suppose that the infor- 
mation is satisfactory to me, what w'ill be the 
consequence ?” 

“ That you consent to my remaining longer 
in your house,^^ cried the Professor ; “ that you 
will trustingly permit me to pay my addresses 
to your daughter, and that you wull give your 
consent to our marriage as soon as I am certain 
of your daughter’s inclinations.” 

“ Such a preparation for a w'ooing is uncom- 
mon,” said the father, wuth a saddened smile; 
“ but it is not unwelcome to a counti-y gentle* 


man. We are accustomed to see fruits ripen 
slow'ly. Thus, Herr Professor, after my journey 
W'e shall all three retain freedom of choice, and 
a final decision. This conversation must remain 
secret.” 

“ I pledge you my word,” said the Professor. 

Again a slight smile flitted over the grave 
countenance of the host. 

“ In order to make so sudden a journey less 
striking, you had better remain here ; but, 
during my absence, refrain from any increase of 
intimacy with my daughter. You see what 
great confidence I place in you.” 

Thus the Professor had compelled his host to 
become the confidant of his love. It w^as a de- 
lightful compact between passion and conscience 
that the scholar had entered into, and yet there 
was an error in this arrangement ; and the 
agreement, which with eager spirit and beating 
heart he had eflected, tm-ned out a little difler- 
ent to w’hat he had represented to himself and 
to the father ; for, betwixt the three individuals 
w^ho were now to enter upon this high-minded 
method of w’ooing, all easy intercourse had sud- 
denly vanished. When Use, beaming with 
happiness, met the gentleman on the morning 
of the eventful conversation, she found her 
heaven obscured and overshadowed w'ith dark 
clouds. The Professor w'as disquieted and 
gloomy ; he worked almost the whole day in his 
room, and w^hen the little ones in the evening 
begged him to tell them some stories, he declined, 
laid hold of the head of the little sister with both 
hands, kissed her forehead, and laid his own 
head upon it, as if he wished the child to sup- 
port him. The words were few and constrained 
that he addressed to Use, and yet his eyes w'ere 
fixed incessantly upon her, but inquiringly and 
doubtingly ; and Use was surprised also at her 
father, who appeared abstracted and sorrowful. 
A secret had arisen between her father and 
herself that deeply absorbed him ; nay, even 
between the two men it w’as not as formerly. 
.Her father, indeed, spoke sometimes in a low 
voice to the friend, but she observed a constraint 
in both when they talked on indilierent subjects. 

Then the next morning there was the secret 
journey of the father, which in few words he 
described as on unimportant business. Had 
everything changed about her since that wild 
evening ? Her woman’s heart beat anxiously. 
A sense of insecurity came over her, — the fear 
of sometl^ng that w'ould be adverse to her. 
Sorrowfully she withdrew to her room, where 
she struggled with bitter thoughts, and avoided 
being alone with the man she loved. 

Of coui’se the change in the loved one became 
at once perceptible to the Professor, and it tor- 
tured the sensitive man. Did she wush to repel 
him in order not to abandon her father ? Had 
that been only pleased astonishment which he 
had taken for inclination of the heart ? These 
anxieties made his demeanour constrained and 
unequal, and the change in his frame of mind 
worked again upon Use. 

She had joyfully opened the flower-bud of her 
soul to the rising light ; but a drop of morning 
dew had fallen into it, and the tender petals had 
closed again under the burden. 

Use had acted as doctress to all the illnesses 
and wounds that happened on the property ; she 


58 


THE LjST MANUSCRIPT. 


had succeeded to lier mother in this honourable 
office ; her fame in the district was not small ; 
and it was not an unnecessary accomplislnnent, 
for Rossau did not possess even one regular 
practitioner. Use knew how to apply lier simple 
remedies admirably; even her father and the 
inspectors submitted themselves obediently to 
her care. She had become so accustomed to the 
vocation of a Sister of Mercy, that it d!d not 
shock her maidenly feelings to sit by the sick 
bed of one of the working men, and she looked 
without prudery at the wound which had been 
caused by the kick of a horse and the cut of a 
scythe. Now the loved one was near her with 
his wound, not even keeping his arm in a sling; 
and she was fearful lest the injury should be- 
come greater. How glad she would have been 
to see the place, and to have bound it up her- 
self ! — and in the morning, at breakfast, she en- 
treated him, pointing to his arm : “ Will you not, 
out of kindness to us, do something for it ? ” 

The Professor, embarrassed, drew his arm 
back, and replied, “ There is nothing to signify.” 

She was hurt, and remained silent ; but when 
he went to his room, her anxiety became over- 
powering. She sent the charwoman, who was 
her trusty assistant in this art, with a commis- 
sion to him ; and enjoined her to enter with an 
air of decision, and, overpowering any opposition 
of the gentleman, to examine the arm, and re- 
port to her. When the honest woman said that 
she was sent by the young lady, and that she 
must insist upon seeing the wound, the Pro- 
fessor, though hesitatingly, consented to show 
the place ; but when the messenger conveyed a 
doubtful report, and Use, who had been pacing 
restlessly up and down before the door, ordered 
again, through her deputy, cold poultices, the 
Professor would not apply them. He had good 
reason ; for however painfully he felt the con- 
stx’aint that was imposed upon him in his 
intercourse with Use, yet he felt it would be 
insupportable entirely to lose sight of her, and 
sit alone in his room with a basin of water. His 
rejection of her good counsel, however, grieved 
Use still more ; for she feared the consequences, 
and, besides, it pained her that he would not 
accede to her wishes. When, afterwards, she 
learnt that he had secretly sent to Rossau for a 
surgeon, tears came into the maiden’s eyes, for 
she considered it as a slight. She knev/ the per- 
nicious remedies of the drunken quack, and she 
was sure that evil would result fron» it. She 
struggled with herself until evening; at last, 
anxiety for her beloved overcame all considera- 
tions ; and when he was sitting with the children 
in the arbour, she, with anguish of heart and 
downcast eyes, thus entreated him : “ This 
stranger will occasion you gi'cater pain. I pray 
you, let me see the wound.” 

The Professor, alarmed at this prospect, which 
threatened to upset all tie self-control which he 
had attained by laborious struggling, answered, 
as Use fancied, in a harsh tone — but, in truth, 
he was only a little hoarse, through inward emo- 
tion — “ I thank you, but I cannot allow that.” 

Use then caught hold of her brother and 
sister who had been in the hands of the gipsies, 
placed them before him, and exclaimed, eagerly, 
“ Do you beseech him, if he will not listen to 


This little scene was so moving to the Pro- 
fessor, and Use looked, in her excitement, so 
irresistibly lovely, that his composure was over- 
powered; and, in order to remain faithful to 
the father, he rose, and went rapidly out of the 
garden. 

Use pressed her hands convulsively together, 
and gazed wildly before her. All had been a 
dream ; the hope she had entertained in a happy 
hour that he loved her had been a delusion, and 
she had revealed her heart to him, and her warm 
feelings had appeared to him as the bold for- 
wardness of a stranger. She was in his eyes an 
unpolished country girl, deficient in the refined 
feelings of the city, who had got something into 
her foolish head because he had sometimes spoken 
to her kindly. She rushed into her room ; there 
she sank down before her couch, and her n hole 
frame shook with convulsive sobs. 

She was not visible for the rest of the even- 
ing. The following day she met the loved one 
proudly and coldly ; said no more than was 
necessary, and struggled secretly with tears and 
endless sorrow. 

All had been put on a right footing for a re- 
fined and decorous wooing ; but when two human 
beings love one another they ought to tell each 
other so frankly and simply without regulation, 
and, indeed — without over delicacy. 

The father had started on his journey; he 
gave as an excuse some business which he meant 
to transact on the road. The day following his 
powerfxil form and anxious countenance might 
be seen in the streets of the University. Gabriel 
was much surprised when a gigantic man, taller 
than his old friend the sergeant-major of the 
cuirassiers, rung at the door and brought a 
letter from his master, in which Gabriel was 
ordered to place himself and the lodging at the 
disposal of the gentleman. The stranger walked 
through the rooms, sat down at the Professor’s 
writing-table, and began a cross-questioning 
conversation with Gabriel, of which the ser- 
vant could make nothing. The stranger also 
greeted Herr Hummel, then went to the Uni- 
versity, stopped the students in the street and 
made inquiries of them ; had a conference with 
the lawyer; visited a merchant with whom ho 
had had dealings in corn; was conducted by 
Gabriel to the Professor’s tailor, there to order 
a coat, and Gabriel had to wait long at the door 
before the gossiping tailor would let the stran- 
ger go. He also went to Herr Hahn to buy a 
straw hat ; and in the evening the tall figure 
might be seen uncomfortably bent under the 
Chinese temple, sitting by Herr Hahn, with a 
flask of wine. It was a poor father anxiously 
seeking intelligence from indifferent people 
which should determine whether he should 
give his beloved child into the arms of a 
stranger. What he learnt was even more 
favourable than he expected. He now dis- 
covered what Frau Rollmaus had long known, 
that he whom he had received into his home 
was, according to the opinion of others, no 
common man. 

When, on returning home the evening of the 
following day, he reached the first houses of 
Rossau, he saw a figure hastening towards him. 
It was the Professor, who, in impatient expecta- 
tion, had come to meet him, and now hast.eno(l 


SPEIHAHN. 


59 


up to the carriage with disturbed countenance. 
The Proprietor sprang from his seat, and said 
gently to the Professor ; 

“ Remain with us, and may Heaven give you 
every future blessing.” 

As the two men walked together up the foot- 
path, the Proprietor continued, with a sudden 
flash of good humour : 

“You have compelled me, dear Herr Pro- 
fessor, to act as a spy about your dwelling- 
place. I have learnt that you lead a quiet life, 
and that you pay your accounts punctually. 
Your servant speaks reverentially of you, and 
you stand high in the opinion of your neigh- 
bours ; in the city you are spoken of as a dis- 
tinguished man, and what you have said of 
yourself is in all respects confinned. Your 
lodgings are very handsome, the kitchen is too 
small, and your storeroom is smaller than one 
of our cupboards. From your windows you 
have at least some view of the country.” 

Reyond this not a word was spoken concern- 
ing the object of the journey, but the Professor 
listened hopefully to the other observations of 
the Proprietor, how opulent were the citizens, 
and how brilliant the shops, also of the heiglit 
of the houses in the market-place, the throngs 
of people in the streets, and of the pigeons, 
which, according to old custom, were kept by 
the town council, and boldly hopped about like 
officials betwixt the carnages and the human 
beings. 

It was early morning, and again the first rays 
of the sun warmed the earth. After a sleepless 
night. Use hastened through the garden to the 
little bath-house which her father had arranged 
amongst the reeds and bushes. There she 
bathed her white limbs in the water, dressed 
herself quickly, and ascended the path which 
passed by the grotto to the top of the hill, seek- 
ing the rays of the sun. As she knew that in 
the lower ground the cool night air still lay, she 
climbed still higher, where the hill declined 
steeply towards the grotto down into the valley. 
There she seated herself on the declivity amongst 
the copse, and far from every human eye, drying 
her hair in the sun’s rays and arranging her 
attire. 

She gazed upon her father’s house where the 
friend still lay slumbering, and looked down 
before her on the stone roof of the grotto, and 
on the large feathery top of the willow rose, 
with the white wool of its seed bursting from 
the pod. She supported her head on her hand, 
and thought of the last evening. How little he 
had spoken, and her father had scarcely men- 
tioned his journey. But whatever anxious cares 
passed through her mind, her spirits had been 
refreshed by the sparkling water, and now the 
morning cast its mild light over her heart. 

There sat the child of the house. She wrung 
the water out of her hair and rested her white 
feet on the moss. Near her the bees hummed 
over the wild thyme, and one little Avorker 
circled threateningly round her feet. Use 
moved, and pushed one of her shoes ; the shoe 
slid down, then turned over and went bounding 
over moss and stone, it leapt by the willow rose 
and disappeared in the depth. She put on the 
fellow of the fugitive and hastened along the 
path to the grotto ; turning round the corner of 


the rock she stepped back startled, for in fi-out 
of the grotto sto(xl the Professor, contemj)luting 
thoughtfully the embroidered arabesques of the 
shoe. The sensitive man was scarcely less 
startled than Use at this sudden encounter. 
He also had been impelled to go out into the 
early morning, to the spot where first the heai’t 
of the maiden had opened itself to him ; he had 
seated himself on a stone at the entrance, and 
leant his head against the rock in deep and 
sorrowful cogitations. Then he heard a soft 
rustling, and, amidst gravel and sand, a little 
masterwork of art fell close to his feet. He 
hastened forward, for he guessed at once to 
whom the bounding shoe belonged. Now he 
saw the loved one standing before him, in a 
light morning dress, enveloped in her long 
blonde hair, resembling a v«iter fairy or a 
mountain nymph. 

“ It is my shoe,” cried Use, with embarrass- 
ment, concealing her foot. 

“ I know it,” said the man of learning, 
equally embarrassed, pushing the shoe respect- 
fully to the border of her dress. The shoe was 
quickly slipped on, but the short glimpse of the 
white foot gave the Professor suddenly an heroic 
courage, such as he had not had the last few 
days. 

“ I do not move from this spot,” ho cried, 
resolutely. 

Use drew back into the grotto, and gathered 
her hair into the net she held in her hand. The 
Professor stood at the entrance of the holy place ; 
near him hung the long shoots of the blackberry, 
the bees hummed over the wild thyme, and his 
heart beat. When Use, with blushing cheeks, 
stepped out of the gi*otto into the light of day, 
she heard her name uttered by a voice in deep 
emotion, she felt her hand pressed, an ardent 
look shot from those true eyes, sweet words fell 
from his lips, his arm clasped her, and she sank 
silently on his heart. 

As the Professor himself had on another oc- 
casion explained, man forgets sometimes that 
his life rests on a compact with the overwhelm- 
ing powers of nature, which, unawares, counter- 
act the little lords of the earth ; thus the like 
unexpected powers now controlled the Professor 
and Use. I know not Avhat powers of nature 
sent the bees, or threw the shoe ; was it the elves 
in whom Use did not believe ? or was it one of 
the antique acquaintances of the Professor, the 
goat-footed Pan, who blew his reed pipes in the 
grotto ? 

The wooing had begun in a learned manner, 
but it had been brought to a conclusion without 
any wisdom. There w'ere two large and pure 
hearts which now beat against one another, 
but to say all in one word, the fastidious Pro- 
fessor had at last wooed his bride when she had 
no stockings on. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Raven-black night brooded over the hostile 
houses ; the world looked like a great coal-pit in 
which the lights had been extinguished. The 
wind drove through the trees of the park; a 
rustling of leaves and crackling of branches was 


00 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


heard, and a deep angry roar in the air. No- 
thing was to be seen but a monstrous black 
curtiun that concealed the neighbouring \\’ood, 
and a bhick tented roof which was spread over 
the houses. The streets of the city were empty : 
all who liked their beds had been long lying 
therein, and whoever possessed a nightcap had 
now pulled it over his ears. Every human 
sound was silenced, and the striking of the 
tower-clock was intercepted by the stormy 
winds, and each tone was driven hither and 
thither, so that no one could count the mid- 
night horn*; only round the house of Herr 
Hummel the yelping dogs pursued their uild 
career in the courtyard, undaunted by storm or 
darkness ; and when the wind blew like a bugle- 
horn between the houses, the pack barked sleep 
away fi*om men by their horrible ha-la-li. 

“ This night suits them well,” thought 
Gabriel, in his room. “ It is quite their wea- 
ther.” At last he slept, and dreamt that the two 
dogs opened the door of his room, placed them- 
selves on two chairs before his bed, and alter- 
nately snapped their pocket pistols at him. 

As he was lying in this unquiet sleep, there 
was a knock at his door. 

“ Get up, Gabriel,” called out the old store- 
keeper from the factory; “a misfortune has 
happened.” 

“ Through the dogs,” exclaimed Gabriel, 
springing out of bed. 

“ Some one must have broken in,” cried the 
man again, through the door ; “ the dogs are 
lying on the ground.” 

Gabriel, alarmed, put on his boots, and 
hastened into the yard, which was dimly lighted 
by the morning dawn. There lay the two poor 
watch-dogs on the ground, with no other sign 
of life but helpless writhing. Gabriel ran to 
the M'arehouse, examined the door and windows, 
and then the house; every shutter was closed, 
and no sign of disturbance could be discovered. 
When he retmmed, Herr Hummel was standing 
before the prostrate dogs. 

Gabriel, an evil deed has been committed 
here. Something has been done to the dogs ; 
let them both lie there ; an investigation must 
take place. I will send for the police.” 

“ Ah ! what ? ” answered Gabriel ; com- 
passion should come first, then the police. 
Perhaps something may yet be done for the 
vermin.” 

He took the two animals, carried them to the 
light, and examined their condition. 

“There is an end of the black,” he said, 
pityingly. “ The red has still some life.” 

“Go to the veterinary, Klaus,” exclaimed 
Herr Hummel, “and beg he will do me the 
favour to get up at once; he shall be re- 
munerated. This case must be put into the 
daily paper. I require satisfaction before the 
magistracy and town council. — Gabriel,” he 
continued, with angry emotion, “they murder 
the dogs of citizens; it is a work of mean 
malice, but I am not the man to bear with such 
assassins. An example must be made, Gabriel.” 

Meanwhile, Gabriel stroked the skin of the 
red dog, which roiled its eyes wildly under its 
shaggy brow, and stretched out its paws 
piteously. 

At last the veterinary came. He found the 


whole family assembled in the court. Fi’an 
Hummel, still in her night-dress, brought him 
a cup of cofiee, whilst drinking which he sym- 
pathised with them, and then began the ex- 
amination. The verdict of the expert hinted at 
poisoning; the dissection showed that a little 
dumpling with arsenic had been eaten, and, 
what still more vexed Herr Hummel, there were 
glass splinters besides. Por the red there Avas 
still an uncertain hope of being saved. 

This was a gloomy morning for the Hummel 
family. Before breakfast, Herr Hummel sat 
down to his writing-table and composed an 
advertisement for the daily paper, in which ten 
thalers reward was offered to any one who would 
discover the malignant poisoner of his dog. 
The ten thalers were underlined with three 
dashes. Then he went to his window and 
looked awfully out upon the haunts of his oppo- 
nent, and on the Chinese temple which had 
been the cause of this new disturbance. Then 
he turned to his Avife, and pacing up and down 
said : 

“ I have no doubt about the case.” 

“I do not understand you,” ansAvered >^hi8 
wife, who on this fatiguing morning was taking 
a second breakfast ; “ and I do not understand 
how you can be certain in this business. It is 
true that there is a something about those 
people Avhich is always repugnant to us, and it 
may be a misfortune to have such neighbours. 
But you cannot maintain that they have poisoned 
the dogs. I cannot think that such an idea 
would have entered into the head of Frau Hahn. 

I grant you she is a common woman, and the 
doctor says that the dumplings were such as 
Avould be made by a female hand. But when 
our red dog was caught Avith the fieldfares in 
their kitchen, she sent me back the dog Avith 
her compliments, and she thought it was not 
good behaviour in him, as he had eaten three of 
the birds. That was civil, and I can find no 
murderous intention in it. And he does not 
appear like a man who would do anything to 
our dogs in the dark midnight.” 

“ He is malicious,” growled out Herr Hum- 
mel; “but you have always had your OAvn 
opinion about those people. He has been hypo- 
critical towards me from the first day when 
he erected his bricks before these Avindows, and 
turned his back upon me. I have always 
allowed myself to be persuaded by you women 
to treat him as a neighbour with greetings and 
civD speeches ; and I have been silent Avhen you 
have carried on your idle talk with the Avomen 
out there.” 

“ Our idle talk, Henry,” exclaimed the AAufe, 
setting down her coffee-cup with a clatter ; “ I 
must beg of you not to forget what is due to 
me.” 

“ It was not ill meant,” grunted Herr Hum- 
mel, in order to allay the storm Avhich he had 
inopportunely brought upon himself. 

“ What you intended you must know, I take 
it as I heard it ; it shows little feeling in you, 
Hummel, on account of a dead dog to treat your 
wife and daughter as idle talkers.” 

This disagreement added still more to the 
gloom and ill-humour of the morning, but did not 
in any Avay advance the discovery of the culprit. 

It was in vain that the mistress of the house, in 


SPEIHAHN. 


61 


order to tuni away her husband’s suspicions from 
the Hahn fomily, raised many other conjectures, 
and, with Laura’s help, tried to throw the blame 
on their own workpeople or the watchman, and 
that she at last suggested even the shop-porter 
over the way as the possible evildoer. Alas ! the 
civic position of the dogs was so dreadful that 
the Hummel family could easier count the few 
men who did not wish evil to the dogs, than the 
many whose wish and interest it was to see the 
monsters at Cocytus. The news ran like wild- 
fire across the streets, there was a crowd round 
the fruit-woman as on ’Change, and people 
spoke of the evil deed everywhere without pity, 
hostilely and maliciously. Even among those 
in the streets who tried to show outward signs 
of sympathy, the prevailing feeling was hardly 
concealed. Undoubtedly there came some sym- 
pathisers. First Frau Kuips, the washerwoman, 
with wordy indignation; then even Knips the 
younger ventured pityingly into the neighbour- 
hood of the house, — he was clerk in the hostile 
business, who had gone over to the enemy, but 
never ceased to show respect to his former in- 
structor on all occasions, and unacceptable 
homage to Fraulein Laura. At last the comic 
actor of the theatre came, whom they generally 
invited on Sundays, and in return related many 
amusing stories. But even these few faithful 
adherents were suspected by some of the house- 
hold. Gabriel distrusted the Knips family and 
Laura detested the clerk, and the comedian, 
formerly a welcome guest, had, some evenings 
before, in passing by, inconsiderately expressed 
to a companion, that it would be meritorious to 
remove these dogs from the stage of life. Now 
this unhappy idea was repeated to the mistress 
of the house, and it lay heavy on her heart. 
For fifteen years she had accepted this man’s 
homage with pleasure, shown him much friend- 
liness, and given him enthusiastic applause at 
the theatre, not to speak of the Sunday dinner 
and stewed fruits ; and now when the bufibon 
lowered his head sympathisingly and expressed 
his horror, his face, from the long habit of comic 
action, lengthened itself so hypocritically, that 
Frau Hummel suddenly saw a devil grinning out 
of the features of tlie once valued man ; her 
sharp remarks upon Judas frightened in return 
the comedian, because it revealed to him the 
danger of losing his best house of entertainment, 
and the more dolorous he felt, the more equivocal 
became his expression. 

During all these occurrences the Hahn family 
kept quiet in the background. They displayed 
no signs of undue pleasure, and no unnatural 
sympathy came from the silent walls. But at 
mid-day, when Frau Hummel went to refresh 
herself a little in the air, she met her neigh- 
bour ; and Frau Hahn, who since the garden 
scene had felt herself in error, stopped and ex- 
pressed her regret in a friendly way that Frau 
Hummel had experienced such an unpleasant 
accident. But the hostile feeling and suspicion 
of her husband echoed in the answer. Frau 
Hummel spoke coldly, and both separated with 
a feeling of animosity. 

INIeanwhile Laura sat at her widting-tahle, 
and noted do\\-n in her private journal the events 
of the day, and with a light heart she concluded 
with these lines . 


“ They are gone ! the curse is taken from us, 
and the stain blotted out from the book of fate.” 

This prophecy contained just as much truth 
as if, after the first skirmish at the siege of 
Troy, Cassandra had noted it down in Hector’s 
album ; — it was confuted by the endless horrors 
of the subsequent time. 

At all events, Speihahn was not gone ; he re- 
mained alive. But the night’s treachery had 
exercised a sorrowful influence on the creature, 
both body and soul. He had never been beau- 
tiful ; but noAv his body was thin, his head 
swelled, and his shaggy coat bristly. The glass 
splinters which the skilful doctor had removed 
from his stomach seemed to have got somehow 
into his hairs, so that they started bristling from 
his body like a bottle-brush ; his curly tail be- 
came bare, only at the end there remained a tuft 
of hair, like a curved cork-screw with a cork at 
the end. He no longer wagged his tail; his 
yelping ceased ; night and day he roved about 
silently ; only one heard occasionally a low, sig- 
nifleant ^owl. He came back to life, but all 
softer feelings were dead in him; he became 
averse to human beings, and fostered dark sus- 
picions in his soul ; all attachment and fidelity 
ceased; instead of which he showed lurking 
malice and general vindictiveness. Yet Herr 
Hummel did not mind this change ; the dog was 
the victim of unheard-of wickedness, Avhich had 
been intended for the injury of himself, the pro- 
prietor of the house ; and had he been ten times 
more hideous and savage to human beings, Herr 
Hummel would have still made a darling of him. 
He stroked him, and did not take it amiss of the 
dog when he showed his gratitude by snapping 
at the fingers of his master. 

^Vlulst from this new firebrand of the family 
peace the flames of just irritation still shot 
forth, Fritz returned back from his journey. 
His mother immediately related to him all the 
events of the last few weeks, — the bell-ringing, 
the dogs, the new enmity. 

“ It was well that you were not here. Have 
you had a good feather bed ? At the inns now 
they are very regardless of the mattresses of 
strangers. 1 hope that in the country, where 
they rear geese themselves, they may have shown 
more care. With respect to this new quarrel, 
talk to your father about it, and do what you 
can to make peace again.” 

Fritz listened silently to his mother’s account, 
and said, soothingly : 

“ You know it is not the first time ; it will 
pass over.” 

This news did not contribute to increase the 
cheerfulness of the Doctor. He looked from his 
room sadly on the neighbouring house and the 
windows of his friend. In a short time a new 
household would be established there; might 
not, then, his friendship with the Professor be 
affected by the disturbances Avhich of old sub- 
sisted between the two houses ? He then began 
to arrange the notes which he had collected on 
his journey, but the footsteps in the grotto gave 
him an uncomfortable feeling, and the track of 
the wild hunters made him think of Use’s wise 
words, “ It is all superstition.” Ho laid the 
sheets together, seized his hat, and went out 
meditating, and not exactly gaily disposed, into 
rhe park. When he saw Lam-a Hummel a few 


32 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


stops before him on the same road, ho turned 
aside, in order not to meet any one from that 
house. 

Laura was carrying a little basket of fruit to 
her godmother. The old lady was residing in 
her summer dwelling in a neighbouring village, 
and a shady footpath through the park led to it. 
It was lonely at this hour in the wood, and only 
the birds observed how free from care was the 
smile that played round the little mouth of the 
agile Fraulein, and how full of glee were the 
beautiful deep blue eyes that peered into the 
thicket. But tilthough Ijaui-a seemed to hasten, 
she stopped frequently. First it occurred to her 
that the leaves of the copper beech v’ould look 
well in her brown felt hat; slie broke off a 
branch, took oft‘ her hat, and stuck the leaves on 
it; and in order to clve herself the pleasure of 
looking at it, she held her hat in her hand, and 
put a gauze handkerchief over her head for pro- 
tection against the daring rays of the sun. Then 
she admired the chequered light thrown by the 
sun on the road. Then a squirrel ran across the 
path, scrambled quick as lightning up a tree, and 
hid itself in the branches ; and Laura looked up 
and perceived its beautiful bushy tail through 
the foliage, and she fancied herself on the top of 
the tree, in the midst of the foliage and fruit, 
swinging on a branch, then leaping from one 
bough to another, and finally taking a walk — 
high in the air, on the tops of the trees — over 
the fluttering leaves as though upon green hills. 

When she came near the water that flowed 
on the other side of the path, she perceived that 
a large society of frogs, sitting in the sun on the 
bank, sprang into the water with great leaps, as 
if by word of command, and she ran up to them 
and saw with astonishment that the frogs looked 
quite different in the water to what they did 
on the land, not at all like clumsy brewers ; 
they went along like little gentlemen with small 
stomachs and thick necks, but with long legs 
which struck out vigorously. Then when a 
large frog steered up to her, and popped his 
head out of the water, she drew back and 
laughed at herself. Thus she passed through 
the wood, herself a butterfly, and at peace with 
all the w'orld. 

But her fate pursued her. Speihahn had, 
from his usual place on the stone steps, watched 
her proceedings; from under the wild hairs, 
w'hich hung over his head like a moustache, he 
had squinted after her, got up at last and 
trotted silently behind her, undisturbed by the 
rays of the sun, the basket of fruit, or the red 
handkerchief of his young mistress. Betw'een 
the towm and the village the road ascended from 
the valley and its trees to a bare plain, on which 
the soldiery of the towm sometimes practised 
their drill, and where in peaceful hours a shep- 
herd pastured his flock ; the path ran obliquely 
over the open plain to the village. Laura 
stopped on the height at times to admire the 
distant sheep and the brow’ii shepherd, who 
looked very picturesque with his large hat and 
crook. She had already passed the flock, when 
she heard behind her a barking and threatening 
cry; she turned round, and saw the peaceful 
community in wild uproar. The sheep were 
driven asunder, — some running distracted into 
the distance, others rolled together into a cross 


ditch ; the sheep-dogs barked, and the shepherd 
and his boy ran with raised sticks round the 
disturbed flock. Whilst Laura w as looking aston- 
ished at the tumult, the shepherd and his boy 
rushed up to her, follow'cd by two large sheep- 
dogs. She felt herself seized by a rough man’s 
hand ; she saw' the angry face of the shepherd, 
and his stick was brandished straight before her 
eyes. 

“ Your dog has dispersed my flock. I demand 
punishment and compensation.” 

Frightened and pale as death, Laura sought 
for her purse ; she could scarcely find words to 
say, “ I have no dog ; let me go, dear shepherd.” 

But the man shook her arm roughly. Two 
gigantic black beasts sprang upon her and 
snapped at her handkerhief. 

“ It is your dog ; I know the red beast,” cried 
out the shepherd. 

This was quite true, for Speihahn had indeed 
observed the flock of sheep and devised his reck- 
less plan. Suddenly, yelping hoarsely, he had 
sprung on a sheep, and had bitten it severely on 
the leg. Then foUowx'd the flight of the flock, 
rushing together in a heap, — Speihahn in the 
midst of them barking, scratching, and biting, 
— now’ along a dry ditch to the lett, then dow n 
the slope to the wood into the thickest copse. 
At length he trotted home in peace, showing his 
teeth, and leaving his young lady to perish 
under the hand of the shepherd, who was still 
brandishing his stick over her. 

'“Leave go of the Fninlein,” called out the 
angry voice of a man. Fritz Hahn sprang for- 
ward, pushed back the arm of the shepherd, and 
caught Laura fainting in his arms. 

The interposition of a third drew from the 
shepherd new complaints, at the conclusion of 
which he again, in a flaming passion, tried to lay 
hold of the maiden, and was about to set his 
dogs at the Doctor. But Fritz, deeply roused, 
exclaimed, “ Keep your dogs back, and behave 
yourself like a man, or I will have you punished. 
If a strange dog has injured your flock, fitting 
compensation shall be made. I am ready to be 
security to you or to the possessor of the sheep.” 

Thus he spoke, holding Laura firmly in his 
arms ; her head lay upon his shoulders, and the 
red handkerchief hung over his waistcoat dowm 
to his breast. “Compose yourself, dear Frau- 
lein,” he said, with tender anxiety. 

Laiira raised her hand, and looked fearfully 
on the countenance which, excited w ith tender- 
ness and sympathy, bent over her, and she per- 
ceived her situation with alarm. Fearful fate ! 
he again for the third time the inevitable friend 
and preserver ! She extricated herself from 
him, and said, in a faint voice, “ I thank you, 
Herr Doctor, I can widk alone now.” 

“No, I cannot leave you thus,” cried Fritz, 
and began to negotiate again with the shepherd, 
w ho meanwhile had fetched the two victims of 
the murderous dog, and laid them dow-n as proofs 
ot the ill deed that had been done. Fritz put 
his hand into his pocket and handed to the shep- 
herd an instalment of the money promised as 
compensation, gave him his name, and settled a 
future meeting w ith the man, who, after the 
appearance ot the money, became more calm. 

“ 1 pray you take my arm,” he said, turning 
chivalrously to Laura. 


SPEIHAHN. 


63 


*• I cannot accept that,” replied the maiden, 
quite confused, and thinking of the great hos- 
tility. 

“ It is only my duty as a man,’* said Fritz, 
soothingly. “You are too exhausted to go 
alone.” 

“ Then I beg of you to take me to my god- 
mother ; we are nearest there.” 

Fritz took the little basket from her, collected 
the fruit that had fallen out, and then conducted 
her to the village. 

“ I should not have been so much afraid of the 
man,” said Laura, “ but the black beasts were so 
fearful.” 

She took his arm hesitatingly ; for now, when 
the fright had passed, she felt the painfulness 
of her situation, and, alas ! conseience-smitten. 
For she had early in the day thought the travel- 
ling toilet of the Doctor, as she saw him return 
home, insupportable ; but undoubtedly Fritz 
was not a man who could long be considered 
insupportable. He was now full of tender feel- 
ing and care for her, endeavoured to save her 
every roughness on the road, stretching out his 
foot in going along to put the little stones out 
of the way. He began an indifferent conversa- 
tion about the godmother, M’hich obliged her to 
talk, and brought other thoughts into her head. 
It happened, besides, that he himself highly 
esteemed the godmother; indeed, she had once, 
when he was a schoolboy, given him a cherry - 
cake, and he had, in return, composed a poem 
on her birthday. At the word poem Laura was 
astounded ; in that house, too ! Could they 
write poetry ! But then the Doctor spoke very 
slightingly of the elevating creations of happier 
hours, and when she asked him : 

“ Have you, indeed, written poetry ?” 

He answered, laughingly, “Only for home 
use, like every one.” 

Then she felt quite depressed by his cold dis- 
regard of poetry. There certainly was a differ- 
ence between one style of verse and another ; at 
Hahn’s they only wrote about cherry-cakes. 
But immediately afterwards she blamed hcreelf 
for her unbecoming thoughts towards lier bene- 
factor. So she turned in a friendly way to him, 
and spoke of the pleasure she had taken just 
before in the squirrels of the wood. She had 
once formerly bought one of a boy in the streets, 
and had set it free, and the little animal had 
twice sprung from the trees upon her shoulders ; 
and she had at last run away, with tears in her 
eyes, in order that it might remain in the woods. 
Now, when she saw a squirrel, it always appeared 
as if it belonged to her ; and she undoubtedly 
deceived herself, but the squirrels seemed to 
have the same idea. This story led to the 
remarkable discovery that the Doctor had a 
similar experience with respect to a small owl, 
and he imitated the way in which the owl nodded 
its head when he brought in its food ; and, in 
doing so, his spectacles looked so like owl’s eyes 
that Laura could not help laughing. 

Conversing in this way they aiTived at the 
godmother’s door. Fritz relinquished Laura’s 
arm, and wished to take leave. She remained 
standing on the threshold, with her hand on the 
latch, and said, in an embarrassed tone : 

“ Will you not come in at least for a moment, 
as you know my godmother ?” 


“ With pleasure,” replied the Doctor. 

The godmother was living in her summer re- 
sidence, which was somewhat smaller, damper, 
and less pleasant than her lodging in the town. 
When the children of the hostile houses entered 
together — first Laura, still pale and solemn ; 
behind her, the Doctor, with an equally serious 
countenance — the good lady was so astonished 
that she sat staring on the sofa, and could only 
bring out the words : 

“ What do I see ? Is it possible ? Y^ou tAvo 
children together.” 

This exclamation dispelled the magic which 
for a moment had bound the young souls to each 
other. Laura went coldly up to the godmother 
and related how the Doctor had accidentally 
come up at the time of her distress. But the 
Doctor explained that he had only wished to 
bring the Fraulein safe there ; then he inquired 
after the health of the godmother, and took his 
leave. 

Wliilst the godmother was applying restora- 
tives, and detennining that Laura should return 
home another way under the care of her maid 
servant, the Doctor went back with light steps 
to the wood. His frame of mind was entirely 
changed, and a smile frequently passed over his 
countenance. The thought was always recurring 
to him, how fast the maiden had laid clas))ed in 
his arms. He had felt her bosom against his ; 
her hair had touched his cheeks ; and he had 
gazed on her white neck. The worthy youth 
blushed at the thought, and hastened his steps. 
In one thing at least the Professor was not 
wrong, — a woman is, after all, very different 
from the ideal that a man derives from the study 
of human life and the history of the world. It 
appeared certainly to the Doctor now that there 
was something very attractive in waving locks, 
rosy cheeks, and a beautiful form. He admitted 
that this discovery was not new, but he had not 
hitherto felt its value with such elistinctness. 
She had appeared so touching when she re- 
covered from her swoon, opened her eyes, and 
withdrew herself bashfully from his arms ; also 
his having defended her so valiantly tilled him 
with cheerful pride. He stopped on the field of 
battle and laughed out right heartily. Then he 
went along the road which Laura had come from 
the wood ; he looked along the ground as if he 
could discover the traces of her little feet upon 
the gravel, and he enjoyed the brightness and 
warmth of the air, the alluring song of the birds, 
the fluttering of the dragon-flies, with as light a 
heart as his pretty neighbour had done shortly 
before. Then the recollection of his friend came 
across him ; he thought with satisfaction on the 
agitations of the Professor’s mind, and the com- 
motion which Thusnelda had brought into it. 
The result had had a droll effect upon the I’ro- 
fessor; his friend had been very comical in the 
pathos of his rising passion. Such a firm, 
earnest being contrasted curiously with the 
whimsical attacks which fate makes on the life 
of earth-born creatures. When he arrived at 
the last bush in which rustled one of the little 
gi’asshoppers, whose chirping he had often heard 
j in times of anxiety, he spoke out gaily, “ Even 
these must be at it ; first the sheep, then the 
I grasshoppers.” He l)egau singing half aloud a 
I certain old song, in which the gnisshoppers were 


64 


THE LOST MANUSCEIPT. 


asked to go away and no longer to burden his 
spirit. Tims he returned home from his walk in 
right cheerfid frame of mind, like a man of the 
world. , 

“ Henry,” began Frau Hummel, in the after- 
noon, solemnly, to her husband, “ compose your- 
self to listen to a terrible story. I conjure you 
to remain calm and avoid a scene, and take pains 
to tame your temper; and, above all, consider 
our feelings.” 

She then related to him the misfortime that 
had occurred. 

“ With respect to the dog,” replied Hummel, 
emphatically, “ it has not been clearly shown 
that it was our dog. Tlie witness of the shepherd 
does not satisfy me; I know this fellow, and 
require an impartial witness. There are so many 
strange dogs running about the city that the 
security of the community suffers, and 1 have 
often said it is p, disgrace to our police. But if 
it should be our dog, I cannot see anything parti- 
cularly wrong about it ; if the sheep stretched 
out its leg to him, and .he bit it a little, that 
is its own affair, and there is nothing to be 
said about it. As to what fui’ther concerns the 
shepherd, I know his master, — so that is n:y 
affair. Finally, with respect to the young man 
over there, it is your affair. I do not wish to 
visit on him the bad behaviour of his parents, but 
1 will have nothing to do with those people.” 

“ I must bring under your observation, Hum- 
mel,” interposed his wife, “ that the Doctor has 
already paid money to the shepherd.” 

“ Money for my child ? That I cannot allow,” 
exclaimed Hummel. “ How much was it ? ” 

“ But father ” said Laura, imploringly. 

“ How can you desire,” exclaimed Frau 
Hummel, reproachfully, “ that your daughter, 
in danger of death, should pay the gi’oschens 
that her preserver laid out for her ? ” 

“ You are women,” grumbled out the master 
of the house ; “ you have no head for business ; 
can you not incidentally ask him ? The shep- 
herd I take upon myself, and shall not trouble 
myself about the Doctor. Only this I teU you ; 
the affair must be shortly settled, and our re- 
lations with that house must remain as before. 
All I ask is to go on smoothly, and I will take 
no notice of these Hahns.” 

After this decision he left the ladies to their 
feelings. 

“ Your father is right,” said Frau Hummel, 
“ to leave the principal matter to us ; with his 
harsh disposition thanks would come very 
ungraciously.” 

“ Mother,” said Laura, entreatingly, “ you 
understand courtesies : can you not go over 
there ? ” 

“ My child,” answered Frau Hummel, clearing 
her throat, “that is not easy. This unhappy 
occurrence of the dogs has left us women too 
much at variance. No, as you are the principal 
person now concerned, you must go over there 
yourself.” 

“ I eannot visit the Doctor,” exclaimed Lama, 
alarmed. 

“ That is not necessary,” said Frau Hummel, 
soothingly. “There is one advantage in this 
neighbourhood, that we see from our windows 
when the men go out ; then you shall rush over 
to the mother, and address your thanks for the 


son to her. Y’^ou arc very judicious, my child, 
and will know how to act.” 

Thereupon Laura sat at the window, not well 
pleased to sit as watcher upon her neighbours : 
this lying in wait was repugnant to her. At 
last the Doctor appeared on the threshold ; he 
looked the same as usual; there was nothing 
chivalrous to be seen in him ; his figure was 
slender, and he was of middle height, — Laura 
liked tall people. He had an intellectual coun- 
tenance, but it was concealed by his large 
spectacles, which gave him a pedantic appear- 
ance ; but when he did smile his face became 
quite handsome, but his usual serious expression 
was not becoming to him. Fritz disappeared 
round the corner, and Laura put on her hat 
with a heavy heart, and went into the hostile 
house, which she had never yet entered. Dor- 
chen, who was not in the secret, looked 
astonished at the visit, but sharp-sightedly 
connected it with the return of the Doctor, and 
announced out of her own head that neither of 
the gentlemen were at home, but that Frau 
Hahn was in the garden. 

Fx-au Hahn was sitting in the Chinese temple. 
Both women stood opposite each other, with a 
feeling of embarrassment ; both thought at the 
same time of their last conversation, and to 
both the recollection was painful. But w'ith 
Frau Hahn the danger to which Laura had 
been exposed at once overcame this natural 
nervousness. “ Ah, you poor young lady ! she 
began, but whilst overflowing with compassion, 
with delicate tact she drew away from the 
Chinese building, feeling that it was not an 
appropriate place for this visit, and invited her 
to sit on a little bench in front of the white Muse. 
This was the pleasantest spot about the house ; 
here the orange-tree smiled upon its donor, and 
Laura could bring herself into a gi’ateful mood. 
She told her neighbour how deeply she felt 
indebted to the Doctor, and she begged her to 
say this to her son, because she herself in the 
confusion had not properly fulfilled this duty. 
She then entered into the necessary business 
about the bad shepherd. The good Frau Hahn 
was pleased with her thanks, and in a motherly 
way begged Laura to take off her hat for a little 
while, as it was warm in the garden. But 
Laura did not take off her hat. She expressed 
in fitting terms her pleasure in the garden, said 
how beautifully it bloomed, and heard with 
satisfaction of the splendid orange-tree which 
had been sent anonymously to Herr Hahn, the 
fruit of which w as sweet, for Herr Hahn had 
celebrated the return of his son by an artistic 
drink, for which he had taken the first fruit of 
the little tree. 

It was altogether a diplomatic visit, not 
stretched beyond the necessary time ; and 
Laura was glad when, on departing, she had 
i-epeated her compliments and thanks to the 
Doctor. 

In Laura’s secret record also the events of 
this day w'ere very shortly disposed of. Even 
an observation she had begun on the happiness 
of the lonely dwellers in the wood remained un- 
finished. How was it, Laura ? — you, who write 
down everything ; who, when an insect or a 
sparrow hops in at the window, burst forth into 
verse! Here was an event infiuencing your 


65 


THE DEPARTURE FROM THE COUNTRY HOUSE. 


whole life — danger, unconsciousness in the arms 
of a stranger, who, in spite of his learned as- 
pect, is a handsome youth ! This would be the 
time^ to depict and indulge in fancy dreams. 
Capricious girl, why does this adventure lie like 
a dead stone in the fantastic landscape that 
surrounds thee ? Is it with thee as with the 
traveller, who, weary of the Alpine scenery, 
looks below him and wonders that this marvel- 
lous nature so little impresses him, till gradually, 
hut perhaps not for years, the scenes pursue him 
walking or dreaming, and draw him anew to the 
mountains ? Or has the neighbourhood of the 
wicked wight who occasioned the outrage im- 
peded the flight of your soaring wings ? There 
he lies before your threshold, red and ragged, 
and licks his moustache. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Autumn had come : the trees about the house 
had assumed their coloured dress of decay, white 
webs hung over the stubble, and the dewdrops 
lay upon them till the wind dispersed them away 
from field and valley into the blue distance. A 
happy pair went hand and hand about the place. 
This year the fall of the leaf did not aflect the 
Professor, for a new spring had begun in his 
^ life ; and his happiness was written in his coun- 
tenance in characters which might be read by 
the most unlearned. 

Use was betrothed. Humbly she bore the in- 
visible crown which, according to the opinion of 
the household and neighbourhood, now encircled 
her head. There were still hours in which she 
could scarcely believe in her happiness. When 
she rose early from her bed, and heard the trail- 
ing of the plough, or when she stood in the dairy 
amidst the cluttering of the milk-pails, her future 
appeared like a dream. But in the evening, 
when she was sitting near her beloved one, lis- 
Iff tening to his words and conversing on subjects 
serious and trifling, she would lay her hand 
' gently on his arm in order to assure herself that 
I he belonged to her, and that for the future she 

I should enter into the life in which his spirit 
moved. 

The marriage was to take place before the 
winter, and before the lectures began at the 

II University; for the Professor had petitioned 
against a long engagement, and the father had 

} yielded. 

5E' i “I would gladly have kept Use with me over 
the winter, for Clara must undertake a portion 
of her duties, and the directions of her sister 
would be very useful ; but it is better for you 
that it should be otherwise. You, my son, have 
I proposed for my daughter after a short acquaint- 
I arice, and the sooner Use accustoms herself to 
1 the life of the city the better it will be for you 
both ; and I think it would be easier to her in 
the winter.” 

I It was a time of happy excitement, and the 
necessity of providing for the new household 
I brought down the feelings of the betrothed from 
It their state of exaltation to earthly things. 

' The Professor made a journey to the Uni- 
' versity. He went first to his friend. 



“ Wish me joy,” he cried, " and have confi- 
dence in her and me.” 

The Doctor embraced him, and never left his 
side during his stay ; he accompanied him in all 
his shopping, and assisted him in the arrange- 
ment of the rooms. Gabriel, who, from the visit 
of the country' gentleman, had anticipated coming 
events, and who had become doubtful of his own 
indispensability, felt proud when the Professor 
said to him : 

“ We old ones remain : do your best to make 
yourself useful to my wife.” 

Then came Herr Hummel: in the name of 
the family he presented their congratulations, 
and of his own accord offered the use of two 
rooms in his house which he did not himself re- 
quire. But Laura was more anxious than all 
the rest about the new inmate. She burst forth 
in writing thus : 

“ Will she be elevated or lowly ? Full of 
stern dignity or smiling peacefulness ? My 
heart beats, my thoughts flutter ! Will my 
delightful prognostications deceive me ? ” 

When the Professor begged of her and her 
mother to receive his future wife with courtesy, 
and help her in her arrangements, and when he 
added to Laura that he hoped she would be on 
a friendly footing with his bride, he did not 
guess how much happiness he had given that 
young heart, which felt an unquiet longing to 
unfold itself devotedly to some one. The indis- 
tinct information which he gave concerning the 
character of his intended threw a veil over her, 
but she became to Laura a frame in which she 
daily depicted new faces and visions. 

Meanwhile the women were occupied in the 
old house with trunks and linen. The ap- 
proaching marriage of her sister had trans- 
formed Clara into a grown-up maiden ; she 
helped and gave good advice, and showed her- 
self in everything clever and practical. Use 
was boasting of this in the evening to her 
father, and then threw her arms round his neck 
and burst into tears. The father’s mouth 
quivered : he did not answer, but he held his 
daughter close to his heart. It happened 
fortunately that the last weeks before their 
separation were full of work and distraction. 
There was much yet to be done in the household, 
and the father would not excuse the betrothed a 
single visit to his acquaintance in the neigh- 
bourhood. 

One of the first was to the family of RoUmaus. 
Use had informed the Frau Rollmaus in a 
special letter of her betrothal : this had created 
great excitement. Frau Rollmaus triumphed ; 
but Rollmaus had his horse saddled and rode to 
Bielstein, but not up to the house. At the gate 
of the courtyard he inquired for the Proprietor, 
and rode to him in ti»e field. There he took 
him on one side and began his congratulations, 
with this short question : 

“ Wliat has he ?” 

This question could not be responded to in 
numbers, but the answer satisfied him in some 
measure. Then he turned his hoi’se short round, 
trotted up to the house, and presented his con- 
gratulations to Use and her betrothed, whom he 
now looked upon as her equal, and this time he 
pressingly repeated his invitation. After hia 
return, he said to his wife : 


66 


THE LOST .manuscript; 


I could have wished a better parti for Use, 
but the man is not so bad after all.” 

“ Rollmaus,” replied the wife._ “ I hope you 
will behave properly on this occasion.” 

“ How' so ? ” asked the Crown-Inspector. 

“ You must propose the health ot the be- 
trothed couple at the dinner.” 

The husband growled. 

“ But without any useless trash-like oratory, 
or being overpowered by feelings : I w’iU have 
nothing to do with that.” 

“ The eloquence must be in the introduction,” 
cried Frau Kollmaus ; “ and if you will not do 
it, I will undertake it myself, and you merely 
give the health.” 

The house of Rollmaus displayed for the visit 
its finest table linen and dinner service, and 
Frau Rollmaus showed not only a good heart 
but good cooking. After the first course, she 
clinked her glass, and began excitedly : 

“ Dear Use, as Rollmaus, in proposing your 
health, w'ill express himself shortly and laconi- 
cally, I W’ill just beforehand mention that 
honestly, with all our hearts, we wish you 
happiness, as old friends of your parents, who 
have lived together as good neighbours, sympa- 
thising both in misfortune and when there W'as 
an agreeable addition to the family, and in 
mutual household assistance. It is very sad for 
us that you are leaving this part of the country, 
although w'e rejoice that you are going to a city 
where intellect, and what are called higher 
strivings, are valued. I w’iU not be voluminous, 
therefore 1 beg of you both to remember us with 
true friendship.” 

She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and 
Rollmaus expressed the family feeling generally 
in four words : 

“ Health to the couple.” 

At departing, Frau Rollmaus w'ept a little, 
and begged the Proprietor to permit them to be 
at the marriage, though no other guests were to 
be at it. 

There was to be still another distraction. The 
Prince W'ished to stop on the way to his hunting 
castle and take breakfast in the old house. 

“ It is well. Use, that you are with us,” said 
her father. 

“ But one does not know at all what such a 
person is accustomed to,” rejoined Use, between 
pleasure and anxiety. 

“ His ow'n cook will come over from the chief 
forester’s house ; he w’ill help. Only take care 
that he finds something in the kitchen.” 

It W’as a day of busy preparation, and the 
children, the housekeeper, and the w’orkwomen 
sat amongst mountains of verdure and autumn 
flow’ers, twining wreaths and garlands. 

“ Spare nothing,” said Use, to the old gar- 
dener ; “ he is the beloved father of our country. 
We little ones bring him om* fiow'crs as a 
tribute.” 

Hans prepared, wdth the help of the Pro- 
fessor, gigantic cockades and words formed in 
dahlias. 

The evening before the hunt the purveyor and 
cook, with their attendants, arrived. The pur- 
veyor begged to lay out the table in the garden. 

The Prince will be accompanied by the neces- 
sary servants ; the rest of the w’aiting may be 
done by the waiting-maids of the house, smartly 


attired. The country customs w’ill please the 
Prince.” 

On the morning of the chase the Proprietor 
rode in his best suit to Rossau to receive the 
Prince, and the children thronged round the 
window’s of the upper story, spying along the 
high road like bandits. Shortly before mid-day 
the carriage came up the hill, and stopped at the 
door of the house. The Proprietor and chief 
forester, w’ho were riding on each side ot the 
royal carriage, sprang from their horses. The 
Prince descended wdth his suite, greeting them 
as he crossed the threshold. He was of ad- 
vanced age and middle height ; had a small, 
delicate face, from which one could understand 
that in youth he had been considered a hand- 
some man, with tw’o intelligent eyes, beneath 
which were many small wrinkles. Use entered 
the hall, and the Proprietor introduced his 
daughter in his simple w’ay. The Prince greeted 
Use graciously with a lew' sentences, and fa- 
voured the Professor, who w’as presented to him 
as bridegroom of the daughter, with a look and 
some questions; whereupon the Professor was 
invited by the master of the buckhounds to join 
the party at breakfast. The Pi ince stepped di- 
rectly into the garden, praised the house and 
the landscape, and mentioned his recollection of 
having been here with his father as a boy of 
fourteen. 

Breakfast passed off admirably. The Prince 
asked questions of the Proprietor, w hich show'ed 
an interest in the condition of the country. 
When they rose from table, he approached the 
Professor, asked particulars of the University, 
and knew the names of several of his colleagues. 
The answ’ers and genenil demeanour of the 
learned man induced him to prolong the con- 
versation. He told him that he himself w’as 
somewhat of a collector; he had brought ancient 
coins and other antiques fi-om Italy, and any in- 
crease in his collection gave him much pleasure. 
It W’as satisfactory to him to hear that the Pro- 
fessor knew of an important one. 

When the Prince, in conclusion, asked the 
Professor whether he belonged to this country, 
Felix answ’ered that accident had brought him 
here. It suddenly occurred to him that this w’as 
an opportunity, which might never return again, 
of making know’n to the highest pow’er in the 
country the fate of the lost manuscript, and 
thereby, perhaps, gaining an order for further 
research in the residence. He began his ac- 
count. The Prince listened with evident excite- 
ment; whilst cross-questioning him about it, he 
drew him further from the society, and seemed 
so entirely engrossed in the atiair as to forget 
the hunting. The master of the buckhounds at 
least looked often at his w’atch, and spoke civilly 
to the Proprietor of the interest which the Prince 
seemed to take in his sou-in-law'. At last the 
Prince closed the conversation : 

“ I thank you for your communication. I 
value the confidence which you have show’ii me.. 
If I can be of any use to you in this matter, 
apply directly to me ; and should you happen to 
come into my neighbourhood, let me know'. It 
would give me pleasure to see you again.” 

When the Prince passed through the hall to 
the carriage, he stopped and looked round. The 
1 master of the buckhounds gave the Proprietor 


67 


THE FIRST GREETINGS OF THE TOWN. 


a hint. Use was called, and again made her 
obeisance, and the Prince thanked her shortly 
for her hospitable reception. Refore the carriage 
had disappeared from the farm building, the 
Prince looked again up to the house, and this 
civility fell on fruitful ground. 

“He turned himself quite round, and gave 
a look of peculiar interest,” said one of the 
labourers’ wives, who had placed herself with 
the working people near the evergreen arch by 
the barns. 


^ All were contented, and rejoiced in the gra- 
ciousness and civility which had been given and 
received in good part. Use praised the Prince’s 
attendants, who had made every thing so easy ; 
and the judicious questions of the Prince had 
pleased the Professor much ; and u hen the Pro- 
prietor returned in the evening, he related how 
Avell the chase had gone off, and that the Prince 
had spoken most kindly to him, and had wished 
him joy of his son-in-law before everybody. 

The last day came that the maiden was to 
pass in her father’s house. She went with her 
sister Clara down to the village, stood by the 
window of the poor Lazarus, stopped at every 
house, and committed the poor and sick to the 
care of her sister. Then she sat a long time 
with the pastor iii his study. The old man held 
his dear child by the hand, and would not let 
her go. On departing, he gave her the old Bible 
which his wife had used. 


“ I meant to take it with me to my last 
abode,” he said, “ but it will be better preserved 
in your hands.” 

When Use returned she seated herself in her 
room, and the maids and workwomen of the 
house entered one after another. She took leave 
of each of them separately, and spoke to them 
once more of what each had most at heart, gave 
comfort and good advice, and a small keepsake 
from her little store. In the evening she sat 
between her father and lover. The tutor had 
taught the children some verses ; Clara brought 
the bridal wreath, and the little brother ap- 
peared as a guardian angel ; but when he began 
his speech he burst out sobbing, concealed his 
head in Use’s lap, and would not be comforted. 

When at a fitting time they had all gone 
away. Use sat for the last time in her chair in 
' her sitting-room. When her father prepared to 
retire, she handed him a candle. The father 
put it down, and paced up and down without 
speaking. At last he began : — 

“ Your room shall remain for you unchanged, 
and when you return to us you shall find it as 
you have left it. No one can replace you on this 
property, neither your sisters nor your father. 
1 give you up with sorrow to enter upon a life 
which is unknown to us both. Good night, my 
beloved child ; Heaven’s blessing upon you. 
God guard your noble heart. Be brave, Ilse, 
for life is difficult.” 

He drew her to him, and she wept quietly on 
his hroast. 

The following day, the morning sun shone 
through the windows of the old wooden church 
upon the place before the altar. Again Use’s 
head was surrounded by a heavenly radiance, 
and the countenance of the man into whose 
hand the old pastor laid that of his darling 
beamed with happiness. The children of the 


house and the workw’omen of the farm strewed 
flowers. Ilse, with her wreath and veil, stepped 
over the last flowers of the garden, her eyeS 
raised on high. From the arms of her father 
and sisters, amid the loud-e.\pressed blessings 
of Frau Rollmaus, and the gently-murmured 
prayer of the old pastor, her husband helped her 
into the carriage. Again a hun^ah from the 
people, again a look on her father’s house, and 
Ilse pressed the hand of her husband, and clung 
closely to him. 


CHAPTER XTII. 

The leaves were falling in the woods around 
the city. Ilse stood at the window thinking 
of her home. The Avreaths over the door were 
faded, the linen and clothes v/ere stowed away 
in the presses, life with her glided on so quietly, 
whilst that outside was so bustling and noisy. 
Her husband was sitting in the next room over 
his work; no sound but the rustling of the 
leaves as he turned them penetrated through 
the door, and at times the clattering of plates in 
the kitchen which was close by. Her dwelling 
was very pretty, but circumscribed on the side 
of the small street; behind was the neighbour- 
ing house, with many windows for curious eyes ; 
towards the wood also, the horizon was shut in 
hy grey stems and towering branches. From 
the distance, the hum and cries of the busy 
town sounded from morning to evening in her 
ear; above were to be heard the tones of a 
pianoforte, and on the pavement, without 
ceasing, the tread of the passers-by, waggons 
rolling, and loud voices quarrelling. However 
long she looked out of the window, there were 
always fresh people and unknown faces, many 
beautiful equipages, and, on the other hand, 
many poor people. Use thought that every 
passer-by who wore fashionable attire must be a 
person of distinction, and when she saw a 
shabby dress she thought how hardly life pressed 
here upon the poor. Everything was strange 
to her that she heard ; even those who dwelt 
near, and could watch her proceedings on all 
sides, had little intercourse with her, and if she 
inquired concerning individuals, the inmates of 
her house could give but scanty account of 
them. All was strange and cold, and all was 
an endless bustle. Use felt in her dwelling as 
if in a small island on a stormy sea, and she felt 
alarmed at this strange life. 

But, however gigantic and blustering the 
town seemed to Ilse, it was at bottom a friendly 
monster; nay, it fostered perhaps, rather than 
otherwise, a secret inclination to poetic feelings 
and to private courtesy. It was true that a 
strict town councillor had given up the custom 
of welcoming distinguished strangers with wine 
and fish, but still he sent his first morning 
greeting through his winged proteges. The 
pigeons flew round Use’s window, sat aga’nst 
the panes, and picked at the wood till Ilse 
streAved some food for them. When Gabriel re- 
moved the breakfast, he could not refrain from 
taking some credit to himself: — 

“ I have for some weeks scattered food before 
this window, thinking it would be agi’eeable to 
you to see them.” 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 




And when Use loohed at him gratefully, he 
continued, ingenuously : — 

“ I dwelt originally in a village, and when I 
first came to the barracks, I shared my rations 
with a strange poodle.” 

But the town took care that other birds 
should become intimate with the lady from the 
country. On the very first day that Use went 
out alone (it was an unpleasant walk, for she 
could scarcely resist stopping before the showy 
shop windows, and she coloured when people 
looked boldly in her face), she had found some 
poor children in front of a confectioner’s, w'ho 
looked longingly through the windows at the 
pastry ; this longing look had touched her, and 
she entered and distributed cakes amongst them. 
Since that, it happened that every noon there 
was a slight ringing at Use’s door, and little 
children, with tattered hosen, produced empty 
cans, which w'ere filled and carried home, to the 
great vexation of Herr Hummel, who could not 
approve of such encouragement to rogues. 

When Use, the evening of her arrival, w’as 
taken by her husband into her room, she found 
a beautiful cover spread over her table, a mas- 
terpiece of careful female w'ork, and on it a card, 
with the word “ Welcome.” Gabriel acknow- 
ledged that the Fraulien Laura had brought 
this present. The first visit therefore on the 
follow'ing morning was made to the lower story. 
When llse entered the sitting-room of the 
Hummel family, Laura sprang up blushing, and 
stood embarrassed before the Pi-ofessor’s wife ; 
her w'hole soul Avarmed to the stranger, but 
there w^as something in Use’s demeanour that 
inspired her with awe. Ah ! the much longed-for 
one w'as undoubtedly noble and dignified, even 
more than Laura had expected; and she felt 
herself so very insignificant and awkward, that 
she received shyly Ilse’s warm thanks, and drew 
back some steps, leaving to her mother the duty 
of speaking. But she did not weary of gazing 
at the beautiful woman, and in imagination, 
adorning her figure with the finest costumes of 
the’tragic stage. 

Laura declared to her mother that she would 
make the return visit alone, and stole upstairs 
on the first fitting day in the twilight hour with 
beating heart, but determined to have a good 
talk. But, as accident would have it, im- 
mediately after her arrival, the Doctor entered, 
disturbing the peace, and consequently there 
was nothing but fragments of conversation, 
which were good for nothing. She took leave, 
angry wdth the Doctor, and dissatisfied with 
herself because she had found nothing better to 
say. 

After this day the lodger became an object of 
quiet, incessant adoration to Laura. After din- 
ner she placed herself at the windoAV w’atching 
for the hour when llse used to go oxit with her 
husband. Then she watched her from behind 
the curtains with admiration. She was very fear- 
ful lest her pianoforte playing might disturb 
her, and inquired at what hours it would be 
least annoying to her ; then, when the red hob- 
goblin without a name once snarled at llse and 
bit maliciously at her dress, she was so angry 
that she fetched her pai-asol and drove the 
monster doAvn the stairs. 

Under her mother’s name — for she did not 


venture upon it herself — she began a campaign 
of small attentions to the upper floor. Laura, 
to the dismay of Herr Hummel, took possession 
of the young geese, of the fat hens that w’ere for 
the kitchen, and sent them regularly upstairs, 
till at last the seiwant-maid, Susan, became so 
bitter at this preference of the lodger that she 
besought the aid of Frau Hummel. One day 
Laura learnt from Gabriel that the Professor’s 
wife had asked for a certain kind of apple; 
Laura hastened to the market and searched till 
she collected a little basket of them, and brought 
them home ; and this time she compelled even 
Herr Hummel himself to send up the basket 
with many compliments. Use was pleased with 
these household courtesies, but did not guess the 
secret source. 

“ There is one class of people of whom I am 
much afraid,” said Use, to her husband ; “ that 
is the students. When I was scarcely grown up, 
and on a visit to an aunt, I saw a whole set of 
them approach the door with large swords, hats 
with feathers, and velvet coats. They Avere so 
wild, I did not venture to go out in the street 
during the whole day. If now as your Avife I 
must have intercourse AAuth these Avild creatures, 

I shall not exactly be afraid of them, but they 
will make me uneasy.’* 

“ They are not all so bad,” said the Professor, 
consolingly; “you will soon get accustomed to 
them.” 

NotAvithstanding this, Use aAvaited Avith much 
anxiety the visit of the first students. 

It happened that one morning the bell Avas 
pulled just AA’hen the Pi*ofessor Avas detained in 
the University library, and Gabriel and the 
maid had been sent out. llse opened the door 
herself. A young man started back in surprise, 
who, from his coloured cap, Avas evidently a stu- 
dent, and had, besides, a black portfolio under his 
arm. He looked quite different to AA’hat she ex- 
pected, being Avithout ostrich feather or SAA^ord, 
and his face was pale and thin ; still llse felt 
respect for the learned young man, nevertheless 
feared that the wildness of his class might sud- 
denly break out. She was, hoAvever, a valiant 
maiden, and took a practical vieAA' of the visit. 
“ The evil,” she thought, “ is come ; now it is 
necessary to be courteous. You wish to speak to 
my husband ; he is at this moment not at home. 
Will you have the kindness to Avalk in ?” 

The student, a poor philologist who Avas a can- 
didate for a small studentship, Avas throA\m into 
great alarm at the majestic being avIio stood 
before him. He made many boAA's, and did not 
venture to oppose her. Use toak him into the 
visitors’ room, motioned him to an arm-chair, 
and asked Avhether she could be of any service to 
him. The poor Avretch became still more embar- 
rassed, and llse Avas also infected by his agitation. 
She made an effort, hoAA'ever, to begin a conver- 
sation, and inquired whether he belonged to the 
city. This was not the case. From Avhat country 
did he come ? she also Avas a stranger. Then it 
turned out that he was from her province, — not 
indeed close to her home, but Avithin ten miles 
on the other side ; he had therefore from his 
earliest youth looked on the same mountains, 
and kneAV the dialect of her country and the 
voices of the birds. Noav she pushed her chair 
nearer to him, and made him converse, till at last 


69 


THE FIRST GREETINGS OF THE TOWN. 


they chatted together like old friends. At length 
Use said, “ ]\Iy husband will perhaps not return 
veiy soon ; I should not like to deprive him of 
the pleasure of seeing you. Would it not be well, 
my countryman, if you would give us next Sun- 
day the pleasure of being our guest to dinner ?” 

^ The student rose surprised and with expres-^ 
sions of thanks, and was accompanied to the 
door by Use. But he had been so confused by the 
adventure that he forgot his portfolio. Again 
he rang the bell diffidently ; again he stood em- 
bai’rassed at the door, and begged with many 
excuses for his portfolio. 

Use was pleased with this incident, and with 
having so well overcome her first difficulty. She 
called out joyfully to her husband when he came 
to the door, “ Felix, the first student has been 
here.” 

Indeed,” answered the husband, in no wise 
disturbed by the announcement ; “ what is his 
name ?” 

“ I do not know his name, but he wore a red 
cap, and said he was not a freshman. I Avas 
not at all afraid, and I asked him to dinner for 
Sunday.” 

“ Well,*^ replied the Professor, ** if you do 
that to every one, our house will soon be full.” 

“ Was it not right ? ” asked Use, troubled. 
“I saw that he was not one of the principal 
ones, but I wished on your accoimt to do too 
much rather than too little.” 

“ It is well,” said the Professor ; “ he wiU 
not forget that he was the first that had a view 
of your dear face.” 

The Sunday came, and with it, at the hour of 
noon, the student, Avho had on this occasion 
made extraordinary outlay as to waistcoat and 
gloves. But Use, observing the demeanour of 
her husband towards the student, maintained a 
quiet motherly dignity. In accordance with 
this she gave him a second helping of the joint, 
and provided him with quantities of vegetables. 
This benevolent care, and sundry glasses of wine, 
the last of which was poured out by Use, 
strengthened the heart of the student, and 
raised him above the petty things of earthly 
life. After dinner the Professor conversed with 
the Doctor on some learned subjects. But 
Use kindly kept up a conversation with the 
young gentleman, and put him so much at his 
ease that he began to speak of his family affairs. 
Then the student became touching and pathetic, 
and began some very sorrowful disclosures. In 
the first place, naturally, that he had no money ; 
then ventured to add the painful acknowledg- 
ment of a tender attachment to the daughter of 
a lawyer who lived in the same house with him, 
and whom he had secretly worshipped for a 
Avhole year, and expressed it in poetry. But at 
last the father interposed; he, with a tyranny 
peculiar to magistrates, forbad the reception of 
the poems by his daughter, and contrived to 
remove the student from the house. Since that 
the heai-t of the student had been an abyss of 
despair ; no longer did any poem — they were 
sonnets — penetrate to the secluded loved one. 
Nay, he had even grounds to believe that she 
also despised him ; for she attended balls, and 
only the previous evening he had seen her, with 
flowers in her hair, alighting from her father’s 
can’iage at a brilliantly lighted house. Sorrow- . 


fully he had stood at the door of the house 
among the spectators ; she was rosy, and glided 
past him smiling and beaming. Now he wan- 
(kred about despairing and alone, weary of his 
life and full of dismal thoughts, concerning 
which he gave gloomy intimations. Finally, he 
asked Use’s permission to send her these poems, 
which expressed the condition of his heart. 
Use of course consented, with warm expressions 
of compassion. 

The student took his leave, and Use received 
the next morning by post a packet, with a very 
respectful letter, in Avhich he excused himself 
for not sending to her all the poetical pieces 
Avhich would place his misfortune in the right 
light, as he had not copies of them ready. En- 
closed with them was a sonnet to Use herself, 
very tender and full of reverence, in which it 
was clearly the inclination of the student to 
make Use mistress of his dreams in the place of 
his unfaithful love. 

Use felt embarrassed in laying this enclosure 
on the writing-table of her husband. 

“ If I have done wTong, Felix, tell me.” 

The Professor laughed. 

“ I wuU myself send him back his poem ; that 
will quite restrain his homage. You will know 
now that it is dangerous to receive the con- 
fidence of a student. The poems, however, are 
worse than usual.” 

“Thus I have had a lesson,” said Use, 
“which I have brought upon myself; for the 
future I will be more cautious.” 

But she did not so speedily lose the recollec- 
tion of the student. 

Every afternoon, when the w’eather was 
favourable. Use w'ent at the same hour with her 
husband to the adjacent Avood. The happy 
couple sought out lonely bypaths W'here the 
branches Avere more thickly intertwined, and the 
green carpet beneath contrasted gaily with the 
yellow leaves. Then Use thought of the trees 
at her father’s place ; and the conversation 
with her husband alw’ays reverted to her father, 
brothers, and sisters, and to the last news she 
had had from home. In the meadow which 
extended from the last buildings of the town to 
the W’ood there stood a bench under a large 
bush ; there they overlooked in the foreground 
the hostile houses, and behind the gables and 
tow’ers of the city. "When Use came upon the 
place the first time she was pleased at the sight 
of her own windoAvs and the surrounding 
gloomy tow'ers, and it led her to think of the 
seat in the cave from Avhich she had so often 
looked on her father’s house ; she sat down on 
the bench, drew'^ out the letters which she had 
kept from her brothers and sisters, aud read to 
her husband the simple sentences in Avhich they 
reported the latest events on the estate. From 
that time forth this became her favourite rest- 
ing-place, as they bent their steps homew'ard. 

The day after the reception of the student’s 
packet, on arriving at the bench she saw^ a small 
nosegay lying on it ; she laid hold of it Avith 
curiosity ; a delicately-folded note of rose- 
coloured paper was appended to it, wdth this 
inscription : “ A greeting from B.” After this 
as many stars as there Avere letters in the name 
of her father’s country place. Surprised, she 
handed the note to the Professor. He opened 




70 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


it and read these unassuming words : “ From 
under the rock the little dwarf sends you this 
nosegay, greeting you over hill and valley, from 
the dear father’s house.” 

“ That is meant for you,” he said, in astonish- 
ment. 

“ How delightful !” exclaimed Use. 

“ The dwarf must certainly be a joke of the 
Doctor,” decided the Professor ; “ truly he has 
well disguised his handwriting.” 

Use, delighted, put on the nosegay. 

“ When the Doctor comes this evening, he 
shall not find out that we have discovered him.” 

The Professor dilated upon the droll idea of 
his friend ; and Use, who before had looked 
upon the Doctor with secret distrust, heartily 
agreed. 

But when the Doctor in the evening feigned 
the greatest nonchalance, he was jestingly 
scolded for his art of dissimulation, and loaded 
with thanks. On his declaring firmly, how- 
ever, that the nosegay and verse did not come 
from him, fruitless discussion arose as to the 
author. The Professor began to look very 
serious. 

A few days after the offering in the wood was 
repeated, another nosegay lay on the bench, 
with the same address, and a verse. Again did 
Use endeavour gently to maintain that there 
had been a co-operation of the Doctor, but the 
Professor shortly rejected that, and put the rose- 
coloured note in his pocket. Use took the nose- 
gay with her, but did not this time place it in 
her girdle. When the Doctor came, the adven- 
ture was again discussed. 

“ It can be no one but the little student,” said 
Use, much distressed. 

“ That I fear also,” said the Professor, and 
related to the Doctor Use’s annoyance at the 
confidential packet of the son of the muse. 
“ Harmless as the thing appears in itself, it has 
still a serious aspect. The wording of this ad- 
dress shows an accurate insight which is any- 
thing but agreeable, and such activity and 
assiduity may lead the adorer to still greater 
daring. He must be checked. I will endea- 
vour to-morrow to convince him of his error.” 

“ And if he should deny the act,” interposed 
the Doctor. “ You should at least make this 
impossible. As the nosegay has escaped the 
observation of others passing by, it has probably 
been laid there the last moment before youi* ap- 
pearance, which would not be difficult, as you 
always pass at the same hour. One must en- 
deavour to surprise the daring man.” 

“ I will go alone to-morrow,” said the Pro- 
fessor. 

“ You ought not to watch a student in the 
wood,” said the Doctor, decidedly. “ Besides, 
if your wife remains at home, the nosegay will 
probably not lie on the bench. Leave the affair 
to me. If it goes on to-morrow and the follow- 
ing days, I will discover it, as I will watch the 
offender from the other side of the place.” 

This being settled, the Professor took both the 
small nosegays from the glass, and threw them 
out of the window. 

^ The follow'ing day, a quarter of an hour before 
his friends, the Doctor went to the wood, dis- 
guised in a grey coat and dark hat, in order to 
fall upon the presumptuous versifier from his 


hiding-place ; he undertook to chastise the of- 
fender, so that the Professor w^ould be spared 
any personal interference. He found a good 
place just opposite the bench, where the still 
remaining beech foliage w’oul J conceal the hunter 
from his game. There he placed himself in a 
good position, drew' a large opera-glass from his 
pocket, and fixed his eyes incessantly on the 
fatal bench. The bench was still empty ; the 
few passengers passed it by with indifference ; 
the time appeared long; the Doctor looked for 
half-an-hour through the glasses, so that his eyes 
began to ache, but he held out. His place was 
well chosen : the offender could not escape. 
Suddenly, just as his eyes accidentally glanced 
tow'ards Herr Hummel’s house, he saw the 
garden gate open; something dark passed out 
betw^eeu the trees and came tow'ards the bench 
out of the thicket, looked cautiously round, 
passed by the bench, and disappeared again 
among the trees and through the hostile garden 
gate. An expression of infinite astonishment 
w'as depicted on the countenance of the Doctor; 
he closed his opera-glass, and laughed quietly to 
himself ; then directed the glasses again, peering 
after the vanished figure ; shook his head, and 
fell into deep thought. He listened, and heard 
the quiet steps of tw'o promeuaders. The Pro- 
fessor and Use approached him from the w'ood ; 
they stopped some steps from the bench, and 
looked at the fatal nosegay which lay there 
quite innocently. The Doctor burst out from 
the copse, laughing, took up the nosegay, and, 
offering it to Use, said : 

“ It is not the student.” 

“ Who, then ?” asked the Pi'ofessor, uneasily. 

That I must not say,” replied the Doctor; 
*'but the afiair is harmless, — the nosegay is 
from a lady.” 

“ Seriously ?” asked the Professor. 

“ You may be assured of it,” replied Fritz, 
convincingly. “ It is from some one whom w'e 
both know, and your wife need not hesitate to 
accept the greetings. It is given with the best 
intentions.” 

“ Have the citizens io many verses and se- 
crets ?” asked Use, curiously, taking the flowers 
with a light heart. 

Again there w'as guessing: they could not 
find any one on whom they could fix it. 

“ I am glad that the mystery is thus solved,” 
said the Ikofessor ; “ but tell your poetess that 
such missives might easily fall into bad hands.” 

“ I have no influence over her,” replied the 
Doctor ; “ but W'hatever may have put it into 
her head to do this, it wiU not always remain a 
secret.” 

At last came the long-w'ished-for hour in 
w'hich Laura w'as to have a private meeting 
with the distinguished stranger, as Use up to 
this day was designated in the private memoirs. 
The mother had gone out when Use entered the 
sitting-room to ask a household question. Laura 
gave the information, became very much at her 
ease in conversation, and at last ventured to re- 
quest that Use would go with her into the garden. 
There they sat together under the last rays of 
an October sun, and interchanged mild opinions 
concerning the boat, the Chinese temple, and 
passers-by. Finally, Laura laid hold respect- 
fully of llse’s hand, and took her into a corner 


71 


THE FIRST GREETINGS OF THE TO^^^. 


3f the garden in order to show her a great 
ranty— the abandoned nest of a liedge-sparrow. 
The birds had long flown away, and the remains 
()1 the nest still hung on the half-bare branches, 

“ Here they were,” cried Laura, impressively ; 
heavenly little beings ; five speckled eggs laid 
within ; they brought up their little ones suc- 
cessfully. I was the whole time in fearful 
anguish on account of the cats which slink 
about here.” 

“ You are a dear town-child,” said Use. “ The 
persons here are happy if they only keep in their 
gardens one poor little sparrow. At home they 
chirruped, flew, and sang from all the trees ; and 
unless there was something special about one of 
them, one did not care about individuals. Here 
each little creature is valued and soiTOwed for. 
The first morning I was here I was shocked at 
the sight of these poor creatures : they are not 
to be compared to their comrades in the country, 
their feathers so bristly and gi’imy, and their 
whole bodies are black and sooty, like charcoal- 
burners. I would gladly have taken a sponge 
to wash the whole lot.” 

“ It would be of no use ; they would become 
black again,” said Laura, despondingly. “ It is 
caused % the dust in the gutters.” 

“ Does one become so dusty in the city, and 
altogether grimy ? That is sad. It is certainly 
much more beautiful in the country.” As Use 
softly acknowledged this, her eyes moistened 
involuntarily with the thought of the distant 
woody hills. “ I am only a stranger here,” she 
added, more cheerfully. “ The city would be 
very pleasant if there were not so many men ; 
they annoy me with their staring when I go 
alone in the streets.” 

“I will accompany you, if you like,” said 
Laura, delighted ; “ I shall always be ready.” 

This was a friendly offer, and was thankfully 
accepted. Laura, in her great joy, ventured to 
ask Ilse to go with her into her private room. 
They ascended into the upper story. There the 
little sofa, the ivy screen, the shepherd and shep- 
herdess, were duly admired, and finally the new 
pianoforte. 

“ Will you play mo something ?” begged Use. 
“ I can play nothing. We had an old piano, but 
I learnt only a few tunes from my dear mother, 
for the children to dance to.” 

Laura took a piece of music, the first leaf of 
which was beautifully ornamented with gilded 
elves and lilies, and played the “ Elfin Waltz,” 
secretly trembling, but with great execution; 
and she explained, laughingly, and shaking her 
black locks, the passages where the spirits came 
fluttering in, and mysteriously chattered together. 
Ilse was highly delighed. 

“ How quickly your little fingers fly,” she 
said, regarding with admiration Laxira’s delicate 
hand. “ See how large my hand is in compari- 
son, and how hard the skin — that comes from 
assisting in the household.” 

Laura looked entreatingly at her. " If I might 
only hear you sing.” 

“ I can sing nothing but hymns and some old 
village melodies.” 

“ Oh, do sing them,” begged Laura. “ I will 
endeavour to accompany you.” 

Ilse began an old melody, and Laura tried a 
modest accompaniment, and listened with trans- 


port to the rich sound of the voice ; she felt her 
heart tremble under the swelling tones, and ven- 
tured to join softly in the last verse. 

After this she searched for a song which was 
known to both, and when they succeeded tolera- 
bly in singing together, Laura clapped her hands 
enchanted, and it was determined to practice 
some easy songs, in order to surprise the Pro- 
fessor. 

It happened that Ilse had seldom heard a 
concert, and occasionally when visiting in the 
neighbourhood had seen a play, but only one 
opera. 

“ The piece was called the Freischiitz,” said 
Ilse ; “ she was the chief forester’s daughter, 
and she had a friend just as merry, and with 
beautiful locks and frank eyes like yours ; and 
the man whom she loved lost his trust in the 
gracious protection of heaven, and in order to 
obtain the maiden he denied God and gave him- 
self to the Evil One. That was fearful, and her 
heart became heavy, and a foreboding came over 
her ; but she did not lose her strength of mind, 
nor her trust in help from above ; and her faith 
saved her lover, over whom the Evil One had 
already stretched out his hand.” 

Thus she described accurately the whole course 
of the piece. 

“ It was enchanting,’ she said. “ I was very 
young, and when I came back to our lodging I 
could not compose n^'self, and my father was 
obliged to sccid me.” 

Laura listened, sitting on a footstool, at Use’s 
feet ; she held her hand fast, and heard her ac- 
count as a little child listens to a tale she already 
knows. 

“ IHow warmly you describe it ; ’tis as if one 
was reading the poem.” 

“ Ah, no,” exclaimed Use, shaking her head ; 
“ this compliment is just what I do not in the 
least deserve. I have never in my life made a 
verse, and I am so prosaic that I do not know 
how my unpolished nature wiU adapt itself to the 
town, for here they write verses ; they hum about 
in the air like flies in summer.” 

“ AMiat do you mean ?” asked Laura, hanging 
her head. 

“ Only think, even I, a stranger, have received 
verses ! ” 

“That is natural,” said Laura, occupied in 
folding her pocket-handkerchief, in order to con- 
ceal her confusion. 

“ I have found little nosegays on the bench in 
the park, with dear little po.'\ns, and the name 
of my home given by a letter and stars. See, 
first a large B, and then — ” 

Laura, in her delight at this account, looked 
up from her pocket-handkerchief; her cheeks 
were suffused with colour; there was a roguish 
smile in her eyes. 

Ilse looked at the beaming countenance, and 
as she spoke, guessed that she was the giver. 

Laura bent down to kiss her hand, but Ilse 
raised her curly head, threatening her with her 
finger and kissing her. 

“ You are not angry with me,” said Laura, 
“ for being so bold ?” 

“ It was very dear and pretty of you, but you 
must know it put us in a state of great distrac- 
tion ; the Doctor discovered you, but he did not 
tell us your name.” 


THE LOST MANUSCRII^T. 


T2 


"The Doctor!” cried Laura, springing up. 
" Must he always be coming betu'cen us ?” 

" He kept your secret faithfully. Is it not 
true that I ought to tell my lord everything ? 
but, between ourselves, it was not agreeable to 
him for a time.” 

This was a triumph for Laura. Again she 
seated hei*self at Use’s feet, and archly begged 
her to relate what the Professor had said. 

" That is not to the purpose,” answered Use, 
gravely, " that is his secret.” 

Thus an hour passed in pleasant talk till the 
clock struck, and Use rose hastily. “ My hus- 
band will wonder where I have vanished to,” 
said she. " You are a dear girl ; if you please, 
we will hold to each other faithfully.” 

Ah ! that pleased Laura much.^ She accom- 
panied her visitor to the staircase, and on the 
step it occurred to her that she had forgotten 
her main point ; her room lay directly over that 
of the Professor’s wife, and v hen Ilse opened 
the window she could communicate quickly with 
her by signals. Just as Ilse was about to close 
her door, Laura ran down once more in order to 
express her joy that Ilse had granted her this 
hour. 

Laura returned to her room, paced up and 
down it with rapid steps, and snapped her fingers 
like one who has won a great stake. She set 
down in her secret book her account of the 
whole consecrated hour, and every word that 
Ilse had spoken, and concluded with verses : " I 
liave found thee, pure one ! my dream has been 
realised. My soul floats to thee betwixt joy and 
sorrow ; but I touch the hem of thy garment 
and bear thee lovingly in my heart.” Then she 
placed herself at the piano, and played with 
impassioned expression the melody which Ilse 
had sung to her. Ilse heard beneath, this 
heartfelt outburst of thanks for her visit. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A CAERIAQE drove up to the door. Ilse 
entered her husband’s study attired for her first 
visits. " Look at me,” she said, " am I right ?” 

" Quite correct,” cried the Professor, joyfully, 
examining his wife. But it was well that it 
was all correct without his help, for in matters 
of toilet the critical eye of the Professor was of 
doubtful value. 

"Now I begin a new game,” continued Ilse, 
" such as the children used to play at home. I 
shall knock at your friends’ doors and call out. 
Halloa, halloa ! and the stranger ladies ask. 
Who is there ? then I shall answer, as in the 
game, A stranger beggar-woman. What does 
she want ? A bit of bread for mo and a kiss 
for my husband, because he is begging with 
me.” 

" Now, as concerns the kisses which I am to 
dispense to the wives of my colleagues,” replied 
the Professor, drawing on his gloves, " I should, 
on the whole, be obliged to you if you would 
take that business on yourself.” 

" Ah, you men are very strict,” said Ilse ; 
"my little Frank also always refuses to play the 
game, because he would not give a kiss to the 
little maidens.” 


Tliey drove through the streets. The Profes- 
sor on the way gave an recount to his wife of 
the persons and the peculiar branch of learning 
of each of his colleagues to whom he was taking 
her. 

" Tlie first that comes is a dear man,” he said, 
"Professor Raschke, our Philosopher, and a 
valuable friend to me. I hope his wife will 
please you.” 

" Is he very famous ?” asked Ilse, laying her 
hand on her beating heart. 

They stopped before a low house at the fur- 
ther end of the suburb. Gabriel hastened into 
the house to announce the visitors ; finding the 
kitchen empty, he knocked at the parlour door, 
and, finally, being experienced in the customs of 
the family, opened the entrance into the court- 
yard. "Herr and Frau Professor are in the 
garden.” 

The visitors passed through the narrow yard 
into a kitchen -garden, which the owner of the 
house had given his lodger permission to walk 
in for the benefit of the air. The couple were 
walking along the path under the mid-day sun 
of an autumn day. The lady carried a little 
child on her arm ; the husband held a book in 
his hand, from which he was reading to his 
companion. In order, however, to do as much 
family duty as possible, the Professor had 
fastened the pole of a child’s carriage to the 
band of his trowsers, and thus drew a second 
child after him. The backs of the couple were 
turned to the guests, and they moved slowly 
forward, listening and reading aloud, carrying 
and drawing. 

" An encounter in the narrow path is not de- 
sirable,” said Felix ; " we must wait until they 
turn round the square and have their faces to- 
wards us.” 

It was some time till the procession overcame 
the hindrances of the journey, for the Professor, 
in the eagerness of reading, sometimes stopped 
to explain, as might be seen from the motion of 
his hands. Ilse examined with curiosity the 
appearance of the strange pedestrians. The 
wife was pale and delicate ; one could perceive 
that she had not long left a sick bed. He hiid 
a nobly formed, intellectual face, about which 
hung long dark hair with a sprinkling of grey 
upon it. They had come close to the guests 
before the w’ife turned her eyes from her husband 
and perceived the visitors. 

" What a pleasure I” cried the Philosopher, 
dropping his book into the great pocket of his 
coat. "Good morning, colleague. Ha! that 
is our dear Frau Professorin. Wife, loosen me 
from the carriage, the family bonds confine me.” 

The unloosening lasted some time, as the 
hands of the mistress of the house were not 
free ; and Professor Raschke by no means kept 
still, but struggled forw'ards, and already held 
fast with both bis hands those of his colleague 
and w'ife. 

" Come into the house, you dear guests,” ho 
exclaimed, striding forw'ard with long steps, 
whilst Felix introduced his wife to the lady. 
Professor Raschke forgot his child’s carriage, 
which Ilse w^as obliged to lift over the threshold 
and roll into the hall. There she took up the 
neglected child from its seat, and both ladies 
entered the room with a little specimen ot 


A DAY OF VISITS. 


73 


pliilosophy in tlieir arms, exchanging the first 
friendly greetings, wliilst the little one in Use’s 
anus swung his windmill, and the youngest 
learned child began to scream. Meanwhile 
colleague Raschke went about clearing the room, 
removed books and papers from the sofa, shook 
faded sofa-cushions into form, which emitted a 
cloud of dust, and begged them eagerly to be 
seated. “But how is this?” he said; “you 
are troubling yourself with this doll. It is the 
baby. No ; I see it is the other,” he said, cor- 
recting himself, “which will be less troublesome.” 

At length the party seated themselves. Use 
played with the child on her lap, whilst Frau 
Raschke disappeared for a moment and came 
back wdthout the screaming infant. She sat 
shyly by Use, but asked her friendly questions 
in a gentle voice ; the lively Philosopher, how- 
ever, was always interrupting the conversation 
of the ladies ; he stroked the hand of the Pro- 
fessor, w’hilst he nodded to his wife. “ This is 
quite right j I rejoice that you accustom your- 
self to our mode of life whilst still in your 
blooming youth, for our wives have not an easy 
time of it, — their outer life is limited, and their 
home life has many demands on it. We are 
often wearisome companions, difficult to deal 
with, peevish, morose, and perverse.” He shook 
his head disapprovingly over the character of 
learned men, but his face smiled with secret 
pleasure. 

The breaking off of the visit was accelerated 
by the baby, which began to cry piteously in 
the next room. 

“ Are you going already ? ” said the Philo- 
sopher, complaiuingly, to Use ; “ this cannot be 
reckoned as a visit. You please me much, and 
you have truthful eyes ; and I remark that you 
have a friendly spirit, and that is everything. 
All we want is, in the face a good mirror 
through which the images of life are reflected 
fully and purely, and in the heart an enduring 
flame which will communicate its warmth to 
others. Whoever has that will do well, even if 
it is her fate to be the wife of a sedentary 
student as you are, and this poor mother of five 
squalling brats.” 

Again he strode fidgeting about, fetched an 
old hat from the corner and held it out to the 
wife of his colleague. Use laughed. “ Oh, I 
see, it is a gentleman’s hat ; it belongs to your 
husband.” 

“ I also am provided with one,” said the Pro- 
fessor. 

“ Then it is my own after all,” cried Raschke ; 
and ramming the hat on his head, accompanied 
his guests to the carriage. 

Use sat in the carriage for some time dumb 
with astonishment. “ Now I have courage, 
Felix ; the Professors are still less alarming than 
the students.” 

“All will not receive you so warmly,” an- 
swered the Professor. “ He who comes next is 
my colleague Struvelius ; he teaches Greek and 
Latin as I do ; he is not one of my intimate 
acquaintances, but is a good scholar.” 

This time it was a house in the city ; the 
arrangements of the lodgings were a little more 
ancient than in Use’s new dwelling. This Pro- 
fessor’s wife wore a black silk dress, and was 
sitting before a writing-table covered with books 


and papers : a delicate lady, of middle nge, with 
a small but clever face, and an extraordinary 
coiffure ; for her short hair was combed behind 
her ears in one large roll of curl, which gave 
her a certain resemblance to Sappho or Corinne, 
so far as a comparison can be made with two 
antique ladies the gi’owth of whose hair is by no 
means satisfactorily ascertained. 

Frau Struvelius rose slowly, and greeted the 
visitors with stiff demeanour ; she expressed her 
pleasmre to Use, and then turned to the Pro- 
fessor. “ I have begun to-day the work of 
colleague Raschke, and I admire the deep-tliink- 
ing of the man.” 

“His writings are delightful,” replied the 
Professor, “ because in all we perceive a thorough 
and pure-minded man.” 

“ I agree in your antecedent and conclusion 
in reference to this colleague, but with respect 
to the general tenor of your sentence, I must re- 
mark that many works forming an epoch in 
literature would have no true claim if it was 
necessary to be a perfect man in order to write 
a good book.” 

Use looked timidly at the learned lady who 
had ventured to oppose her husband. 

“ Yet we will come to an agreement,” con- 
tinued the Professor’s wife, fluently, as if she 
were reading from a book. “ It is not requisite 
for every vMuable work that its author should 
be a man of character, but he who truly has 
this noble qualification would be unlikely to 
produce anything which would work unfavour- 
ably on his branch of learning; undoubtedly 
the weaknesses of a learned work originate more 
frequently than one supposes in the weakness of 
character of the author.” 

The Professor nodded assentingly. 

“ For,” she continued, “ the position w-hich a 
learned man assumes with respect to the great 
questions of the day, affecting his branch of 
learning — nay, even the advantages and de- 
ficiencies of his method — may generally be ex- 
plained from his character. You have always 
lived in the country,” she said, turning to Use. 
“ It would be instructive to me to learn what 
impression you have received of the mutual 
relations of people in the town.” 

“I have had iutercourse with very few as 
yet,” rejoined Ilse, timidly. 

“ Naturally,” said Frau Struvelius. “ But I 
mean that you w'ould observe with surprise that 
near neighbourhood does n?t always call for 
intimate intercourse. But Struvelius must be 
told you are here.” 

She rose, opened the door of the next room, and 
standing bolt upright by the door, called out : — 

“ Herr — Herr Professor and Frau Werner.” 

A slight murmur was heard in the neighbour- 
ing room and the hasty rustling of leaves. The 
wife closed the door and continued : 

“For indeed we live through much, and 
among few. In the city one oliooscs from 
among abundance of individuals with a certain 
arbitrariness. One might have more acquaint- 
ance than one has, but even this feeling requires 
consideration, and such consideration is easier 
attained in the town than in the country.” 

The side door opened. Professor Struvelius* 

* Struveli\is — shock-headed. 


74 


IHE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


entered with an absent air, a sharp nose, thin 
lips, and also with an unusual head attire. For 
his hair stood so peculiarly after its own fashion, 
that we are justified in assuming that this head- 
gear was hereditary, and had given the name to 
his family. He bowed slightly, pushed a chair 
Ibrward, and seated himself in it silently — 
probably his thoughts were still working on his 
Greek historian. Use suffered from the con- 
viction that the visit was an inopportune inter- 
ruption, and that his wife lowered herself 
infinitely when she condescended to speak to 
her. 

“ Are you musical ? ” said Frau Struvelius, 
inquisitively. 

“ I can hardly say so,’’ answered Use. 

“ I am glad of it,” cried the hostess, moving 
opposite to her and examining her with sharp 
eyes. “ From what you appear to me, I should 
think you cannot be musical. This art makes 
us weak, and leads too frequently to an imper- 
fect state of existence.” 

Felix endeavoured, with little success, to 
make the Professor participate in the conver- 
sation ; and the visitors soon rose. On taking 
leave, Frau Struvelius stretched the underpart 
of her arm in a rectangular line towards llse, 
and said, with a solemn pressure of the hand : 

“ Pray feel yourself at home with us.” 

The address of her husband — “I have the 
honour to make my compliments to you ”■ — was 
cut short by the closing of the door. 

“ What do you say now P ” asked the Profes- 
sor, in the carriage. 

“ Ah, Felix ! 1 have become very insignificant ; 
my courage is gone, I would rather return home.” 

“ Be composed,” said the husband, consolingly; 
" you are going about to-day as if you were at a 
fail’, looking over the contents of the tables. 
What does not please you, you need not buy. 
The next visit is to tmr Historian, a worthy 
man, who is one of the good spirits of our 
University. His daughter also is an amiable 
young lady.” 

The servant opened the door and conducted 
them into the reception-room. There were 
some good landscapes on the wall, a pianoforte, 
and pretty fiower-table, with rare plants well 
arranged and taken care of. The daughter 
entered hastily ; she had a delicate face with 
beautiful dark eyes. A stately old gentleman 
with a distinguished air followed her. He 
looked something like a high official, only his 
lively way of speaking showed him to be a man 
of learning. Use was received with kindly 
heartiness. Tlie old gentleman seated himself 
near her and began an easy conversation, and 
Use felt herself soon as comfortable as with an 
intimate acquaintance. She was also reminded 
of her home, for he asked : 

“ Are any remains preserv'ed of the old monas- 
tery at Kossau ?” 

Felix looked up with cimiosity, and Use an- 
swered : 

“ Only the walls ; the interior is rebuilt.” 

“ It was one of the oldest clerical foundations 
of our country, and has stood many centuries, 
and undoubtedly exercised influence over a wide 
district. It is striking that the records of the 
monastery are almost all wanting, and all other 
accomits or notices, as fur as I know, are very 


scanty. One may suppose that much still lies 
iu concealment there.” 

Use observed how the countenance of her hus- 
band lighted up ; but he replied, quietly : 

“ Iu the place itself my inquiries were iu 
vain.” 

“ That is possible,” agreed the Historian , 
“perhaps the documents have been taken to tire 
seat of government, and lie there unused.” 

Thus passed one visit after another. There 
was the Rector, and then the Physician, an 
agreeable man of the world, with a brilliant 
establishment. His wife was a plump, active 
lady, with restless, inquiring eyes. Then there 
was the great theological Councillor of the Con- 
sistory, a tall thin gentleman with a sweet smile, 
and also his wife, all in overgrown proportions 
of nose, mouth, and friendliness. The last was 
the Mineralogist, a clever young man with a 
very pretty wife, who had only been married a 
few months. Whilst the young women were 
making intimate acquaintance on the sofa. Use 
was for the second time surprised by a question 
from the Professor : 

“ Your home is not without interest for my 
department. Is there not a cave in the neigh- 
bourhood ?” 

Use coloured, and looked again at her Felix. 

“ It is on my father’s property.” 

“ Indeed ! I am just now at work on a new 
discovery that has been made on your property,” 
cried the Mineralogist. 

He fetched a stone with striking radiating 
crystals. 

“ This is a very rare mineral that has been 
discovered in the neighbourhood of the cav'e ; it 
was sent me by an apothecary of the province.” 

He told her the name of the mineral, and 
spoke of the stone of which the cave was 
formed, and the rock on which her father’s 
house stood, just as if he had been there him- 
self, and made Use describe to him the lines of 
the hills and the quarries of the neighbourhood. 
He listened attentively to her clear answers, and 
thought the ground formation of the property 
very remarkable. 

Use was delighted, and exclaimed : 

“ We imagined that no one in the world cared 
about us ; but I see the learned gentlemen know 
something more of our country than we our- 
selves.” 

“ We understand, at least, how' to find there 
something more valuable than fragments of 
stone,” replied the Professor, courteously. 

After their return home. Use entered her 
husband’s room, who had already sat down to 
his work. 

“ Let me be with you to-day, Felix ; my head 
is confused with all the persons to whom you 
have taken me ; I have seen so much all on one 
day, and have so much friendliness shown me 
by clever and distinguished men. The learned 
lady was most alarming to me ; and, Felix, it is 
perhaps wrong in me to say so, for she is much 
cleverer and more refined, but I found a resem- 
blance in her to a good old acquaintance.” 

“ Rollmaus,” assented the Professor ; “ but 
this one is in reality very clever.” 

“ Heaven grant,” said Use, “ that she may be 
equally true-hearted ; but I feel terrified at her 
learning. I like the other ladies, but the 


75 


A DAY OF VISITS. 


husbands still better ; there is something noble 
about almost all of them, they converse wonder- 
fully well, they are unconstrained, and seem to 
have real inward happiness and gladness of 
heart ; and naturally so, for they hover over the 
earth like your old gods, and may well, there- 
fore, be cheerful. Ah, then there was the 
patched home coat which the dear Professor 
llaschke wore — even moth and rust V'ill not 
eat that ! Wlien I think that all these clever 
people have treated me with kindness and 
regard solely on my husband’s account, I do 
not know how I can thank you sufficiently. 
Now that I have thus been received into this 
new society, I must pray that my entrance into 
It may be blessed.” 

The husband stretched out his hand and drew 
her towards him ; she clasped his head ■with her 
hands and bent ovei dim. 

“ What is that on which you are now work- 
ing ? ” she asked, softly, 

“ Nothing great, only a treatise that I have 
to compose every year for the University.” 

He then told her something of the contents of 
the work. 

“ And when it is ready, what then ? ” 

“ Then I must be occupied in new tasks.” 

‘^Aud thus it goes on always from morning 
to evening, every year, till the eyes fail and the 
strength breaks,” said Use, piteously. “ I have 
something serious to ask you to-day ; will you 
show me the books, Felix, which you have 
written — all of them ? ” • 

“All that I still possess,” said the Professor, 
and he collected books and treatises here and 
there from every corner. 

Use opened one work after another, and it 
turned out that she knew already the Latin 
titles of some of them. The Professor became 
eager over this occupation, and was always 
finding little works which he had forgotten. 
Use laid them all before her in a heap, and 
began solemnly : — 

“ Now a great moment has come for me. I 
■vv’ish to learn from you the contents of each 
writing as far as you can make it com- 
prehensible to your wife. When I was already 
in secret well disposed towards you, the children 
found your name in the Lexicon; w'e en- 
deavoured to read the foreign names of your 
books, and Frau IMlmaus made conjectures in 
her way as to the contents. Then I felt 
soiTOwful that I could understand nothing of 
what you had done for mankind. Since that, I 
have always hoped the day would come when I 
could ask you what it was that you knew better 
than others, and on account of w'hich I should be 
proud of belonging to you. The hour is now 
come, for you have to-day introduced me to 
your friends as your wife, and I will be your 
wife, where your treasme and your heart are, as 
far as I can. ’ 

“Dear Use,” exclaimed the Professor, en- 
chanted by her frank dignity. 

“ But do not forget,” continued Use, with 
emphasis, “that I understand very little, and 
pray have patience with me. I have arranged 
how I will have it done. Write down for me 
the titles as they are in the foreign language, 
and also in German, in a manuscript book that 
I have bought, first of yom- earliest works, and 


then the last. Together with this, note down 
whether you value the work more or less, and 
what is its importance for mankind. Under- 
neath every work I will set down what I under- 
stand from your explanation, that I may re- 
member them well.” 

She produced a black copy-book; the Pro- 
fessor searched again for some more treatises, 
arranged them according to date, and wTote each 
title on one page of the book. Then he gave his 
wife some explanation of the contents of each 
work in her own language, and helped her to 
write her small remarks in the note-book. 

“ Those in German I M'ill endeavour to read 
myself,” said Use. 

Thus they both sat bending eagerly over the 
books, and the Professor’s heart beat with plea- 
sure at the earnestness with which his wife en- 
deavoiired to understand his occupations. For 
it is the lot of the learned man that few feel a 
hearty sympathy in the trouble, struggles, and 
value of his productions. What he builds up 
with enduring strength becomes henceforth a 
corner-stone in the immeasurable house of learn- 
ing on which all the races of the earth have been 
labouring for thousands of years. Hundreds of 
others make a foundation of it to advance their 
own work, thousands of new blocks of freestone 
are piled upon it, and there are not many to in- 
quire who has chiselled that individual shaft, 
and still more seldom does a stranger grasp the 
hand of the workman. The light works of the 
poet are long greeted by those in whom he has 
raised a cheerful smile or an exalted feeling. 
But the learned man seldom by his individual 
works makes a valuable confidant or friend of 
his reader. Even wdiere he inspires respect he 
remains a stranger. Therefore the honest mind 
that enters heartily into the labour of the 
learned, and not only inquires for the ultimate 
result of learning, but takes an interest in the 
inward struggle of the workman, is to him a 
valuable treasure, a rare happiness. Felix now 
looked with emotion at his wife, who was striv- 
ing to occupy this position, and soft emotions 
pervaded the heart of the strong-minded man as 
he explained to her the subjects of his labours. 

When all were noted down. Use laid her hands 
on the books, and exclaimed : 

“ Here I liave all. What a small space they 
occupy, yet they employed many laborious days 
and nights, and the best portion of your noble 
life. This has often given you flushed cheeks as 
you have to-day. For this you have studied till 
your poor brain has been on fire, and for this 
you have always sat in a confined room. I have 
hitherto looked upon the books w'ith indifference, 
now for the first time I perceive what a book is, 
a quiet endless labour.” 

“ That is not to be said of all,” replied the 
Professor; “but the superior ones are more 
even than a labour.” 

He gazed lovingly on the walls up which, to 
the very ceiling, the high bookselves reached, so 
that the room looked as if papered with the 
backs of books. 

“ The multitude of them quite frighten me,” 
said Use, helping him to make room for his own 
books in a dark corner, which was now cleared 
for them as their resting-place. “ They look to 
calm and composed, and yet they may h.ave bee a 


76 


THE LOST JVIANTJSCIIIPT. 


written with iuch impa«;sioned feeling, and have 
excited their readjers too/' 

“ Yes,” said her husband, ‘Hhey are the great 
trcasurei’s of the human race. They preserve all 
that is most valuable of what has ever been 
thought or discovered, from one century to 
another, and they proclaim what was once exist- 
ing upon the earth. Here is what was produced 
full a thousand years before our era, and close 
beside them what has appeared in the world only 
a few weeks.” 

“ Yet in outward appearance one looks quite 
like another,” said Use. “ I shall have diffi- 
culty in finding my way among them.” 

The Pi’ofessor explained their order, and led 
her from one bookshelf to another, pointing out 
those which were his special favourites. 

“ And you use them all ?” 

“ Occasionally, and many others. These you 
see here are only an infinitely small ntnnber of 
the bocks that have been printed ; for since the 
beginning of printed books, almost all that we 
know and call learning, is to be found in them. 
Put that is not all,” he continued ; “ few think 
that a book is more than a work of the creative 
mind, which it sends forth as a cabinet-maker 
does a chair that has been ordered. Their re- 
mains attached, undoubtedly, to every human 
work, somewhat of the spirit of the man n-ho 
has produced it. But a book contains under its 
cover the real soul of the man. The real value 
of a man to others — the best portion of his life 
■ — remains in this form for the next generation, 
perhaps to the most distant future. Besides 
this, not only those w ho write a good book, but 
those whose lives and actions are pourtrayed in 
it, continue in fact living amongst us. We 
converse with them as with fr’iends and oppo- 
nents; we admire and contend with, love or 
hate them, not less than if they dwelt bodily 
amongst us. The human mind that is enclosed 
in such a cov(!r, becomes imperishable on earth, 
and therefore we may say that the intellectual 
life of individuals becomes enduring in books, 
and only that which is to be found in them can 
have any certain duration on earth.” 

“ But error endures also,” said Use, and so do 
lies and impurity when they are put in books.” 

“ They undoubtedly do, but are refuted by 
better minds. Very different, certainly, is the 
value and import of these imperishable records. 
Few maintain their beauty and importance for 
all times ; many are only valuable at a later 
period, because we ascertain from them the 
character and life of men in their days, whilst 
others are quite useless and ephemeral. But all 
books that have ever been written, from the 
earliest to the latest, have a mysterious con- 
nection. For observe, no one who has written 
a boik has of himself become what he is ; every 
one stands on the shoulders of his predecessor ; 
all that was produced before his time has helped 
to form his life and mind. Again, what he has 
produced has in some sort formed other men, 
and thus his mind has passed to later times. 
In this way the contents of all books form a 
gi’eat intellectual empire on earth, and all who 
now write, live and nourish themselves on the 
minds of the past generation.” 

“ Stop,” cried iLe, entrcatingly, “ I am be- 
wiMlere<L” 


“ I tell you this now, because I feel myself a 
modest worker in this earthly realm of intellect. 
This feeling gives me a pleasure in life which 
is indestructible, and it also gives me both 
freedom and humility. For whoever works 
with this feeling, does so whether his powers be 
great or small, not for his own honour, but for 
all. He does not live for himself, but for all, as all 
who have existed continue to live for him.” 

He spoke earnestly, sitting surrounded by hi? 
books, with the setting sun casting its friendlj 
rays on his head and on the home of his spirit 
— the bookshelves. And Use, leaning on his 
shoulder, said humbly, “I am yours. Teach 
me, form me, and make me understand what 
you do.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

Ilse popped her head into her husband'k 
study : “ May I interrupt you ?” 

“ Come in.” 

“ Felix, what is the difference between Fauns 
and Satyrs ? Here I read that Satyrs have 
goats’ feet, but that Fauns have men’s legs with 
a small tail behind.” 

“ Who says that ?” asked Felix, testily. 

“ It is printed,” replied Ilse ; “ here it is 
shown.” As she spoke she showed an open 
book to her husband. 

“ But it is not true,” answered the Professor, 
explaining to her the state of the case. “ The 
Greeks had Satyrs, the Romans Fauns ; but the 
gentleman with the ram’s feet is called Pan. 
But how did the Bacchanalian train come into 
your household ?” 

“ You said yesterday that the Councillor of 
the Consistory had a Faun’s face. Then arose 
the question, what is a Faun’s face, and what is 
a Faun ? Laura remem beied perfectly that she 
had learnt at school that he was a fabulous 
creature of the Romans, and she brought the 
book in which they are pourtrayed. What ex- 
travagant kind of society is this ? Why have 
they pointed ears like the deer, and what have 
you to say if one cannot even in such things 
rely on your undying books ?” 

“Come here,” said Felix, “and I will soon 
introduce you to the whole kindred.” He 
fetched a book of engravings, and showed her 
the figures of the Bacchantes. For a time the 
instruction went on well ; but then Ilse objected, 
“ They have all very little clothing.” 

“ There is more room for art in the body than 
in the dress,” said her husband. 

But Use became uneasy at last; she closed 
the book and exclaimed, colouring, “ I must go ; 
my help is needed in the kitchen to-day, as a 
new pudding has to be learnt. That is my high 
school, and the maid is still a novice.” She 
hastened out. “TeU your Satyrs and Fauns 
that I had a better opinion of them : they are 
very indecent,” she exclaimed, popping her head 
once more through the door. 

“ So they are,” cried out Felix, “ and they do 
not wish to be otherwise.” 

At dinner, when Felix had sufficiently admired 
the pudding, ILse, laying down her spoon, said 
seriously : “ Do not show me such pictures again* 


AMONG THE LEAENED. 


77 


I would gladly like your heathens, hut I cannot 
if they are like that.” 

They are not all so bad,” said her husband, 
consolingly ; “ if you like, we will this evening 
pay a visit to some of the ancient hierarchy.” 

With this day Use began a new period of 
learning. Soon a fixed hour was arranged for 
her husband’s explanations — the most valuable 
part of the day to Use. The Professor gave her 
first a short description of the great civilised 
nations of antiquity and the middle ages, and 
wrote doum for her a few names and dates that 
she learnt by heart. He pointed out to her that 
the whole life of man was, in fact, nothing but 
an unceasing receiving, producing, and giving 
forth of the materials, pictures, and impressions 
presented by the surrounding world, and that 
the whole intellectual development of man is in 
fact nothing but an earnest and reverent search 
after truth, and that the whole of political his- 
tory is in fact nothing but the gradual subduing 
of egotism (which produces disunion between 
men and nations) by the creation of new wants, 
the increase of a feeling of duty, and the growth 
of love and respect for all mankind. 

After this preparation, the Professor began to 
read the Odyssey aloud to her, adding short ex- 
planations. Never had poetry so grand and 
pure worked upon her soul ; the lively legendary 
style of the first part, and the powerfid working 
out of the second, took her heart quite prisoner. 
They became almost like living forms to her ; 
she wandered, suffered, and triumphed with 
them — raised into a new world of more beautiful 
images and higher feelings. Tlieu when the 
conclusion came and the much-tried sufferer sat 
opposite to her husband, the scene of recognition 
sank deeply into the heart of the young wife. 
She sat near her beloved husband with her 
cheeks suffused, her eyes moist with tears and 
modestly cast down; and when he ended, she 
clasped her white arms round her beloved, and 
sank lost in transport and emotion on his breast. 
Her soul woke up as it were from long repose, 
and glowed with great feelings. The immortal 
beauties of this poem cast a radiance over every 
hour of the day, over her language, nay, over 
her sense of learning. She took pleasure in 
trying herself to read it aloud, and the Professor 
listened with intense pleasure as the majestic 
verses rolled melodiously from her lips, and as 
she unconsciously imitated his mode of speech 
and the undulations of his voice. When he 
went early to his lecture, and she helped him 
to put on his academical gown, his heart rejoiced 
in hearing these words : “ Coai*se and red is the 
robe of the noble Ulysses.” And when she sat 
opposite to him during her hour of instruction 
and he came to a pause, these woixis of admira- 
tion broke from her lips ; “ With such prudent 
and intelligent thought dost thou speak of all.” 
And when she wished to praise hei’self, she mur- 
mured to the singing of the boiling kettle : 

“ Verily, I have understanding in my heart, 
and can now distinguish between good and bad ; 
formerly 1 was but a child.” Even the property 
of her dear father seemed to her now illumi- 
nated with the golden splendour of the Hellenic 
sun. 

“I do not understand,” said her father, one 
evening to Clai-a, “ how it is possible that Use 


should so quickly have forgotten our farming 
customs. She speaks in her letters of the time 
when the cattle shall wander again in the wide 
fertile open fields, she means, I suppose, the 
fallow ; but we have indeed stall-feeding.” 

The north wind howled round the two neigh- 
bouring houses, covered the window panes with 
icicles, but within doors, one day followed the 
other with varied colouring and full of light, 
and each evening, more sociable than another, 
passed, over the heads of the happy couple, 
whether they were alone or whether the friends 
of the husband, the instructors of the people, 
sat with them by the tea-table, where a simple 
meal was spread. 

For the friends of her husband and their 
clever converse are pleasant to the lady of the 
house. The lamp throws a festive light in Use’s 
chamber, the curtains are drawn, the table well- 
furnished and a flask of wine is placed on it 
when the gentlemen enter. Frequently the 
conversation begins uith trifles; the friends 
wish to show their esteem for the Professor’s 
wife — one talks a little about concerts, and 
another recommends a new picture or book. 
But sometimes they come out from the study in 
eager convereation ; their discourse is not 
always quite within her comprehension, nor 
always very attractive, but on the whole it 
gives her pleasure and refreshes her mind. 
Then Use sits quietly there, her hands, which 
have been active in her work, fall into her lap, 
and she listens reverently. No one who is not 
a Professor’s wife, can have any idea how 
charmingly the conversation of the learned 
flows. All can speak well, all are eager, and all 
have a composed manner that becomes them 
well. Discussion arises, and they begin to 
argue on weighty points, their opinions clash, 
they contradict each other, one says fmst black, 
the other white ; the first shows that he is in 
the right, and the second refutes him, and 
drives him into a corner. Now his wife 
thinks how he will get out of this ; but she 
need have no anxiety, he is not at a loss — by a 
sudden sally he gains the advantage; then the 
other comes with new reasons and carries the 
matter still further, and the remainder join in, 
they become eager and their voices are raised, 
and whether at last they convince one another, 
or each remains of his own opinion — which is 
generally the case — it is always a pleasure to 
see light thrown on ditficult questions on all 
sides. If one of them has said something really 
important and arrived at the heart of the 
matter, then they all get into an elevated mood ; 
it seems as if a supernatural light had burst in 
on them. But the cleverest of all, and he whoso 
opinion is listened to with the greatest respect, 
is always the dear husband of the lady of the 
house. 

Use, however, remarked that all the learned 
gentlemen had not the same amiable character. 
Some could not bear opposition, and seemed in 
weak moments to consider more their owu 
importance than the advancement of truth. 
Again, one would only speak and would not 
listen, and narrowed the conversation by always 
returning to the point which the others had 
already surmounted. She discovered that even 
an unlearned woman could perceive from the 


73 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


discourse of the wise men something of their 
character ; and when the guests were gone she 
ventured to express a modest judgment upon 
the learning and character of individuals, and 
she was proud when Felix allowed that she had 
judged rightly. 

The gentlemen were very friendly to her, and 
almost all had one quality which made their 
intercourse very pleasant — they were always 
willing to explain. At the beginning Use was 
annoyed at discovering that she knew nothing 
or many subjects ; but one evening she seated 
herself by her husband, and began : “ I have 
come to one conclusion. Hitherto I have 
been afraid to ask questions, not because I 
was ashamed of my ignorance, why should 1 ? 
but on your account, that people might not 
remark w hat a silly wife you have. But if you 
approve of it, I will now' do quite otherwise, for 
] observe that they have pleasure in talking 
and will be W'iiling to favour* me w'ith a passing 
word.” 

“Just so,” said the husband; “they will 
like you the better the more interest you show' 
in them.” 

“ 1 should like to know' everything about the 
whole world, in order to become like you; but 1 
am sadly wanting in comprehension.” 

The new' plan answ’ered admirably. Use soon 
learnt that it was easier to pei'suaoe her friends 
to talk than to desist from it. For they explained 
to her conscientiously and at great length what 
she wished to learn ; but they sometimes forgot 
that the capacity of a woman who is receiving 
new impressions is not so fully developed as 
their own art of teaching. 

Yet they seemed to her to hover like gods 
over the earth, but they partook of the lot 
of the ambrosial society, for the pure peace 
which they sent into the hearts of moi tals did 
not always prevail among themselves, and w as 
easily scared away by the throwing of the apple 
of the Goddess of Discord. It was Use’s fate to 
become privy to a vehement feud among the 
immortals ot Olympus. 

On a dark w inter day, the stormy w'ind beat 
against the window', concealing the adjacent 
wood behind clouds of driving snow. Use 
heard in her husband’s room the sharp tones 
of Professor Struvelius in a weighty Ilow of 
eloquence, and at intervals the long and earnest 
talk of her husband. She could not distinguish 
the words, but the sound of the two voices was 
similar to the w'hirr of bird’s wings or the rival 
singing of the thrush and the ill-omened crow. 
The conversation continued long, and Use won- 
dered that Struvelius should speak at such 
length. When at last he was gone, Felix 
entered her I’oom at an unusual hour, and paced 
silently up and down, for some time occupied 
w ith secret thoughts. At last he broke lorth 
shortly ; 

“ 1 am placed in a position that obliges me to 
comnmnicate W'ith my colleagues about our 
manuscript.” 

Use locked up at him inquiringly. Since her 
marriage there had been no talk about Tacitus. 

“ I thought it was your intention not to speak 
again of it to strangers.” 

“ 1 have unwillingly broken my silence. No- 
thing now remains to me but to be frank w ith 


my most intimate colleagues. The realm of 
learning is unbounded, and it does not often 
happen that fellow's of the same university pitcL 
upon the same work. Nay, for obvious rcasoms, 
they avoid competition. If, therefore, by acci- 
dent, such a coincidence occurs, the most deli- 
cate consideration should be mutually shown by 
members of the same institution. To-day Stru- 
velius told me that he knew 1 liad been occupied 
about Tacitus, and he requested of me some par- 
ticulars. He asked me about the manuscripts 
that I had seen and collated some time ago in 
the country, and about the facsimile 1 had made 
for myself of the characters.” 

' Ihen you imparted to him what you 
knew' ?” inquired llse. 

“ I gave him what I possessed, as a matter of 
course,” replied the Professor. “ For whatever 
he has on hand concerning it, is sure to be a 
gain to learning.” 

“ Then he will make use of your labours for 
the advancement of his own ! Now' he w'ill ap- 
pear before the world in your plumes,” lamented 
llse. 

“ Whether he will make proper use of w'hat 
has been given him, or misuse it, is his affair ; 
it is my duty to put confidence in the honour of 
a respectable colleague. That 1 did not for a 
momeut doubt; but, indeed, another idea oc- 
curred to me. He was not quite open with me : 
he acknowledged that he was occupied with a 
criticism on some passages of Tacitus ; but that 
he concealed from me w hat w'as most important, 

1 feel certain. Nothing, then, remained to me 
but to tell him plainly that I have long had a 
warm interest in the writer, and that since last 
summer 1 have been the more attracted to him 
by the possibility, even though an uncertain 
one, of a new' discovery. So 1 showed him the 
account which first brought me into your neigh- 
bourhood. He is a philologian like me, and 
knows now of w'hat great importance this author 
is to me.” 

“ My only consolation,” said Use, “ is, that if 
Struvelius wishes to disinter the manuscript in 
our place, a hal'd fate aw aits him at the bauds 
of my sensible father.” 

The thought of the defiance of his stern 
father-in-law was consoling to the Professor, 
and he laughed. 

“ On this point I am safe ; but what can he 
want with Tacitus ? — historians do not lie in his 
department. It can scarcely be imagined ; but 
the most improbable things happen ! Has the 
secret manuscript, by any accident, been found 
and got into his hands ? But it is folly to care 
about it.” 

He strode vehemently up and down, and, 
shaking his wife’s hand with great emotion, 
exclaimed at last : 

“ It is always vexatious to catch oneself self- 
seeking.” 

He went again to his work, and when Use 
gently opened the door, sh< saw his pen in uui- 
foim movement, lowards evening, how'ever, 
when she looked after his lamp, and announced 
the arrival of the Doctor, he was fitting lean- 
ing his head on his hand, in moody thought. 
She stroked his hair gently, but he scarcely 
noticed it. 

The Doctor did not take the affair so much to 


79 


AMONG THE LEARNED. 


/icart ; but was very angry, both with the secret 
dealings^ of the other and with the magnanimity 
of his friend, and a lively discussion ensued. 

‘‘ May you never repent this frankness ! ” ex- 
claimed the Doctor. “ The man will strike his 
coin from your silver. Believe me, he will play 
you a trick.” 

“ After all,” concluded the Professor, thought- 
fully, “ it is not worth while to excite oneself 
about it. Should he, by any improbable and un- 
foreseen accident, have really come into posses- 
sion of something new, he has a right to all the 
materials at hand — to what I have collected and 
to my assistance, so far as it is in my power to 
give it. If he is only exercising his acuteness 
on the existing text, my childish hope with re- 
spect to all he may be able to do is unfounded.” 

Thus did an imperceptible and harmless cloud 
arise on the academical horizon. 

A month had passed, and the Professor had 
often met his colleague. It could not fail to be 
observed that Struvelius never let the name of 
Tacitus pass his silent lips; but the Professor 
w^atched with concern the conduct of his col- 
league, for he thought he remarked that the 
other avoided him. 

One quiet evening Felix Werner was sitting 
with Use and the Doctor at the tea-table, when 
Gabriel entered and laid a small brochure, 
wrapped in a common newspaper, before the 
Professor. The Professor tore olF the cover, 
glanced at the title, and silently handed the 
pamphlet to the Doctor. The Latin title of 
this book, translated, was — “ A Fragment of 
Tacitus : being a trace of a lost manuscript. 
Communicated by Dr. Friedobald Struvelius, 
Ac.” Without saying a word, the friends rose 
and carried the treatise into the Professor’s 
study. Use remained behind, startled. She 
heard her husband reading aloud the Latin 
text, and perceived that he was compelling him- 
self to master his excitement by slow and firm 
reading. The contents of this fatal writing 
must not be M'ithheld from the reader : — 

Older cotemporaries of the period in which 
tobacco was smoked in pipes, know the bene- 
ficial effects of an invention which is now com- 
monly called an allumette ; they know the normal 
length and breadth of such a strip of paper, 
which our fathers used formerly to make out of 
musty old records. Such a str'p, certainly not 
of paper, but cut from a sheet of parchment, 
had fallen into the hands of a publisher. But 
the strip had, before that, undergone a hard fate. 
Two hundred years before it had been glued by 
a bookbinder on the back of a thick volume, to 
strengthen the binding, and he had for this ob- 
ject overlaid it thickly with paste. On the reinova. 
of the paste there appeared characters of an old 
monk’s writing. The word Amen and some holy 
names made it certain that what was written 
had served to promote Christian piety. But 
under this monk’s writing other and larger 
Latin characters were visible, very faded, in- 
deed almost entirely defaced, from which one 
could with some difficulty distinguish the Roman 
name Piso. Now, Professor Struvelius had, by 
pertinacity, and by the employment of some 
chemical means, made it possible to read this 
under-writing, and from the form of the charac- 
t-ers it was a work of antiquity. But as the 


parchment allumette was only a piece cut off an 
entire sheet, it naturally did not contain com- 
plete sentences, only single words, which fell on 
the soul of the reader like the lost notes of dis- 
tant music borne by the wind to the ear, no 
melody could be made from it. It was that 
which had attracted the editor. He had ascer- 
tained and filled in the disjointed words, and 
guessed at the whole of the remaining leaf. He 
had, by the admirable application of the greatest 
learning, restored from a few shadowy spots of 
the allumette the whole page of a parchment 
writing, as it might have really been twelve 
hundred years ago. It was an astonishing 
work. 

From this there was the following result. 
Most distinctly, although scarcely legible to 
common eyes, there had been written on the 
strip of parchment a certain Pontifex Piso — 
literally translated, peas the bridge-maker. 
The parchment strip appeared very much occu- 
pied with this bridge-maker, for the name re- 
curred several times. But the editor had shown 
from this name, and from the fragments of des- 
troyed words, that the strip of parchment was 
the last remains of a manuscript of Tacitus, and 
that the woi’ds belonged to a lost portion of the 
Annals ; and ho had at last proved from the 
character of the shadowy letters that the strip 
of parchment did not belong to any present 
manuscript of the Roman, but that it originated 
in one quite miknown, which had been des- 
troyed. 

After reading the treatise the friends sat 
gloomy and thoughtful. At last the Doctor 
burst forth : — 

“ How unfriendly to conceal this from you, 
and yet to call upon you for assistance.” 

“ That signifies little,” replied the Professor. 
“But I cannot approve of the work itself; an 
over-great acuteness is applied on insecure 
grounds, and objections might be made against 
much that he has restored and supposed. But 
why do you not say openly what lies more at 
both our hearts than the mistakes of a 
whimsical man ? We are on the track of a 
manuscript of Tacitus, and here we find a frag- 
ment of such a manuscript, which has been cut 
up by a bookbinder after the Thirty Years’ 
War. The gain which might accrue to our 
knowledge from this little fragment is so in- 
significant that it would not pay for the industry 
expended on it, being indifferent to all the world 
except to us.. For, my rriend, if a manuscript 
of Tacitus has really been cut into such strips, 
it is in all probability that for which we have 
hoped. What is the result ? ” he added, 
bitterly. “ We become free ourselves from a 
dreamy vision which has perhaps too long made 
fools of us.” 

“ How can this parcl meat proceed from the 
manuscript of our friend Bachhuber ? ” cried the 
Doctor; “the te.\t here has been transcribed 
with prayers.” 

“ Who can assure us that the monks of 
Rossau have not written their spiritual aspira- 
tions over at least some faded sheets ? It is not 
usutd, but nevertheless possible.” 

“ Above all, you must see Struvelius’s parch- 
ment strip yourself,” said the Doctor, decidedly. 

“ An accurate examination may clear up much.” 


80 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


“ It is not agreeable to me to speak to him 
about it, but I must do so to-morrow/^ 

The following day the Professor entered com- 
posedly the room of his colleague Struvelius. 

“ You may suppose,” he began, “ that I have 
read your treatise with especial interest. After 
what I have communicated to you concerning 
an unknown manuscript of Tacitus, you must 
perceive that our prospect of discovering this 
manuscript is very much diminished, if the strip 
of parchment has been cut from the leaves of a 
Tacitus which was preserved in Germany two 
hundred years ago.” 

“ If it has been cut ! ” replied Struvelius, 
sharply ; “ it has been cut from it. And what 
you have communicated to me about this con- 
cealed treasure at Rossau was very uneertain, 
and I am not of opinion that much value is to 
be attached to it. If, in fact, there was a 
manuscript of Tacitus existing there, it has un- 
doubtedly been cut up, and this ends the ques- 
tion.” 

“ If such a manuscript was existing there ! ” 
retorted Felix. “ It was existing. But I have 
come to beg you to show me the parchment 
leaf. Since the contents have been published, 
there can be no objection to it.” 

Sti’uvelius looked embarrassed, and answered, 
“ I regret that I cannot meet your wishes, 
which are certainly quite justifiable, but I am 
no longer in possession of the strip.” 

“ To whom am I to apply ? ” asked the Pro- 
fessor, surprised. 

“Even upon that point I am bound to 
silence.” 

“ That is strange,” burst forth Felix ; and 
forgive me for speaking plainly, it is worse 
than unfriendly. For be the importance of this 
fragment great or little, it ought not to be 
withdrawn from the eyes of others after the 
publication of its contents. It is incumbent 
upon you to enable others to prove the correct- 
ness of your restoration of the text.” 

“ That I allow,” replied Struvelius. “ But I 
am not in a position to obtain for you a sight 
of this strip.” 

“ Have you sufficiently considered,” cried the 
Professor, flaming up, “ that by this refusal you 
expose yourself to the misinterpretation of 
strangers, to misconceptions which never ought 
to be brought in contact with your name ?” 

“ I consider myself quite capable of being the 
guardian of my own good name, and must beg 
of you to leave this care completely .to me.” 

“ Then I have nothing further to say to you,” 
replied Felix, and went towards the door. 

In going he observed that the middle door 
opened, and the Professor’s wife, alarmed at 
the loud tones of the speakers, made her appear- 
ance like a fairy, with her hand sti-etched implor- 
ingly towards him. But he, after a passing recog- 
nition, closed the door and went angrily home. 

The clouds had rolled together and the 
heavens were darkened. The Professor took up 
once more the ti*eatise of his ungracious col- 
league : it was just as if a lynx had destroyed a 
hare or a little kid and was preparing to enjoy 
the feast, when a w'ild lion threw itself, shaking 
its mane, iipon the booty, whilst the other ran 
away with the blows of the stronger beast upon 
his back. 


Use twice called her husband to dinner in 
vain ; when she approached his chair anxiously, 
she saw a disturbed countenance. “ I cannot 
eat,” he said, shortly; “send over to beg Fritz to 
come here directly.” 

Use, alarmed, sent to the neighbouring house, 
and seated herself in the Professor’s room, 
following him with her eyes as he strode up 
and down. “ What has so excited you, Felix ?” 
she asked, anxiously. 

“I beg of you, dear wife, to dine without 
me,” he cried, continuing his rapid strides. 

The Doctor entered hastily. “ The fragment 
is not from a manuscript of Tacitus,” cried the 
Professor, to his friend. 

“ Vivat Bachhuber,” replied he, whilst still at 
the door, waving his hat. 

“ There is no ground for pleasure,” inter- 
rupted the Professor, gloomily ; “ the fragment, 
wherever it may be, contains a passage of 
Tacitus.” 

“ It must be somewhere,” said the Doctor. 

“No,” cried the Professor, loudly; “the 
•whole is a fabrication. The upper part of the 
text contains words put together at random, 
and the attempts of the editor to bring them 
into any rational connection are not happy. 
The under portion of the so-called fragment has 
been transcribed from one of the old Fathers, 
•w^ho has introduced a hitherto unobserved sen- 
tence of Tacitus. The falsifier has written cer- 
tain words of this quotation under one another 
on the parchment strip, regularly omitting the 
words lying between. The last is indubitable.” 

He led the Doctor, who now looked as much 
perplexed as himself, to his books, and showed 
him the correctness of his statement. 

“ The falsifier has collected his learning from 
the printed text of the Father, for he has been 
clumsy enough to transcribe an error in the 
print made by the compositor. So there is an 
end of the parchment sheet, and of a German 
scholar also.” 

He took out his handkerchief to dry the per- 
spiration on his forehead, and threw himself into 
a chair. 

“ Hold ! ” exclaimed the Doctor. “ Here it 
is a question of a scholar of honour and repute. 
Let us once more examine calmly whether there 
may not be an accidental coincidence.” 

“ Try,” said the Professor ; “ I have done with 
it.” 

The Doctor long and anxiously collated the 
restored text of Struvelius with the printed 
words of the Father. At last he said sorrow- 
fully, “ What Struvelius has restored agrees 
with the sense and tenor of the words of the 
Father so remarkably, that one cannot help con- 
sidering the slight variation in the words of his 
restoration as a cunning concealment of his ac- 
quaintance with the quotation ; but still it is not 
impossible that by good luck and acuteness a 
person might arrive at the true connection, as 
he found it.” 

“I do not doubt a moment that Struvelius 
made his restoration honourably and in good 
faith,” replied the Professor; *“ but still his 
position is as annoying as possible. Deceiver or 
deceived, the unfortunate treatise is a terrible 
humiliation, not only for him but for oui Uni* 
versity.” 


81 


AMONG THE LEARNED. 


The words of the parchment strip itself,” 
continued the Doctor, “ are undoubtedly trans- 
cribed, and undoubtedly a forgery; and it is 
your duty to reveal the state of the case.” 

The duty of my husband ?” asked Use, 
rising. 

“ Of him who has discovered the forgery ; 
and if Struvelius were his most intimate friend, 
Felix must do.it.” 

Mention it first to him,’^ implored Use. 
“ Do not deal by him as he has done by you ; if 
he has been in error, let him repair it himself.” 

The Professor considered a little, and nodding 
to his friend, said : “ She is right.” He hastened 
to the table, and wrote to Professor Struvelius, 
expressing a wish to speak to him immediately 
on an important subject. He gave the letter to 
Gabriel, and his heart felt lighter ; he was now 
ready to enj >y his dinner. 

Use begged the Doctor to remain with her 
husband, and endeavoured to lead their thoughts 
to other subjects. She took a letter from Frau 
Rollmaus from her pocket, in which she begged 
Use to send her something learned to read, 
chosen by the Professor; and Use expressed a 
wish that they might thus make some return for 
the partridges and other game that Frau Roll- 
maus had dedicated to city learning. This 
helped in some degree to cast the sanguinary 
thoughts of the gloomy men into the back- 
ground. At last she produced a large round 
sausage, which Frau Rollmaus had specially de- 
stined for the Doctor, and placed it as a show 
dish on the table. When they looked at the 
sausage as it lay there so peaceable and com- 
fortable in its ample dimensions, encircled by a 
blue riband, it was impossible not to acknow- 
ledge that, in spite of false appearances and empty 
presumption, there was still something sterling 
to be found on earth. As they contemplated the 
good solid dish, their hearts softened, and a 
gentle smile betrayed their hurt jn weakness. 

There was a ring at the door, and Struvelius 
made his appearance. The Professor collected 
himself and went with firm steps into his room ; 
the Doctor went quietly away, promising to re- 
turn again shortly. 

It must have been apparent to Struvelius, 
after a glance at his colleague, that their last 
conversation threatened to throw a shadow over 
their present meeting, for he looked scared, and 
his hair stood chaotically on his head. The 
Professor laid before him the printed passage of 
the old monk, and only added these words: 
“ This passage has escaped you.^’ 

“ It has indeed,” cried Struvelius, and sat for 
some time poring over it. “ I may have been 
satisfied with this confirmation,” he said at last, 
looking up from the folio. 

But the Professor laid his finger on the book, 
saying : 

“In the text of the parchment strip which 
you have restored, there is an extraordinary 
error in the press, which is copied from this 
edition — an error which at the end of the book 
is corrected. The words of the parchment strip 
are thus partly put together from this printed 
passage, and are a forgery.” 

Struvelius remained mute, but he was much 
alarmed, and looked anxiously at the lengthened 
face of his colleague. 

6 


“ It will now be your interest to give directly 
to the public the necessary explanations con- 
cerning it.” 

“ A forgery is impossible,” retorted Struvelius 
incautiously. “ I myself cleared away from the 
parchment the old paste that covered the text.” 

“ Yet you tell me that the strip is not in your 
possession. You will believe that it is no plea- 
sure to me to enter into antagonism with a 
fellow-scholar ; therefore, you yourself must 
without delay make the whole matter public. 
For it stands to reason the forgery must be made 
known.” 

Struvelius reflected. 

“ I take for granted that you speak with the 
hest intentions,” he began, at last ; “ but I am 
firmly convinced that the writing of the parch- 
ment is genuine, and I must leave it to you to 
do what you consider your duty. If you choose 
to attack your colleague publicly, I wiU endea- 
vour to bear it.” 

Having said this, Struvelius went away obdu- 
rate, but much disquieted, and events pursued 
their evil course. Use saw with sorrow how 
severely her husband suffered from the obstinacy 
of his colleague. The Professor now wrote a 
short statement of the aftair in the literary 
newspaper to which he contributed. He intro- 
duced the fatal passage of the monk, and ex- 
pressed forbearingly his regret that the acute 
editor had been in some way imposed upon by a 
forgery. 

This decisive condemnation made an immense 
sensation in the University. Like a disturbed 
swarm of bees, the colleagues flew humming 
about confusedly. Struvelius had few warm 
friends, but he had also no opponents. It is 
true that at first, according to all literary judg- 
ment, he was considered as done for; but he 
himself was not of this opinion, and composed 
a rejoinder. In this he boasted, not without 
self-complacency, of the satisfactory confirmation 
of his restoration by the passage in the monk’s 
writing, which he had undoubtedly overlooked ; 
he treated the coincidence of the error in print- 
ing with that in his parchment, as an extraor- 
dinary, but in no ways unheard-of accident ; 
and finally, he did not scruple to cast some 
sharp, covert hints at other scholars, who con- 
sidered certain authors as their own peculiar do- 
main, and despised a small accidental discovery, 
though no unprejudiced judge could hope for a 
greater. 

This offensive allusion to the mysterious 
manuscript touched the Professor to the quick, 
but he proudly disdained to enter into any fur- 
ther contest before the public. The rejoinder of 
Struvelius was certainly unsuccessful; but it 
had the eft’ect of giving courage to those mem- 
bers of the University, who were ill-disposed 
towards Felix, to join the side of the opponent. 
The thing was, at all events, doubtful, they said, 
and it was contrary to good fellowship to accuse 
a colleague openly of such a great oversight : 
the assailant might have left it to othei*s to do 
so. But the better portion of the leading mem- 
bers of the University contended from the camp 
of the Professor against this weakness. Some 
of the most distinguished, among them aU those 
who assembled at Use’s tea-table, determined 
that the affair should not drop. In fact, the 


62 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


quarrel was so unfavourable to Struvellus, that 
it was seriously represented to him that he was 
bound in honour to give some kind of explana- 
tion of the parchment; but he kept silence 
against this array of propositions, whether to 
his advantage or disadvantage. 

The evenings in Use’s room also assumed from 
this circumstance a ■warlike character. Their 
most intimate friends — the Doctor, the Minera- 
logist, and, not last, Raschke — sat there as a 
council of war, consulting against the enemy. 
Raschke acknowledged one evening that he had 
just been with tlie obstinate opponent, and had 
implored of him, at least, to manage that a third 
person should obtain a view of the unhappy 
parchment. Struvelius had in some measure 
thawed, and had lamented that he had promised 
silence, because a prospect had been held out to 
him of obtaining other rare manuscripts. Then 
Raschke had conjured him to renounce such un- 
satisfactory treasures, and thus to buy back 
freedom of speech. It must have been clearly 
an animated discussion, for Raschke wiped his 
nose and eyes with a small tea-napkin which 
had fringe, and was Use’s pride, and put it into 
his pocket; and when Use laughingly reminded 
him of his theft, he brought out not only the 
napkin, but also a silk pocket-handkerchief, 
which he maintained must also belong to Use, 
although it was evidently the property of some 
gentleman who took snuff. It was, therefore, 
suspected that he had brought the handkerchief 
from Struvelius’s room. 

“Not impossible,” he said, “for we were 
excited.” 

The strange pocket-handkerchief lay on a 
chair, and was looked upon by the party present 
with cold and hostile feelings. 


CHAPTER XVL 

The great Professors’ Ball occurred during 
the midst of these academical disturbances — the 
only festival of the year which gave to all the 
families of the University the opportunity of 
meeting together in gay society. The students 
also and other acquaintance were invited ; the 
ball was much thought of in the city, and invi- 
tations in great request. 

An academical dance is always quite different 
to a common ball ; for besides all the good qua- 
lities of a distinguished ball, it had the three 
merits of German scholars — industry, freedom, 
and indifference : industry in dancing even with 
the gentleman, freedom in agreeable intercourse 
between young and old, and indifierence to uni- 
forms and polished dancing-boots. Undoubtedly 
the young people bore even here, on the whole, 
a cosmopolitan character, for the same modes 
of dancing, dresses, nosegays, and courtesies, 
glancing eyes and blushing cheeks, one may 
find at a thousand similar festivals from the 
Neva to California; but anyone who looked 
accurately might perceive in the faces of many 
of the maidens, the intellectual eyes and elo- 
qucTit lips which descended to them from their 
learned fathers, and perhaps some small acade- 
micai peculiarities in curls and bands. The old 
proposition which was discovei’ed by the deep 


thought of a past student, that Professors* 
daughters are either pretty or ugly, commended 
itself here to the observation of philanthropists, 
the ordinary mixture of both qualities being 
rare. Among the dancers there were, besides 
the families of the Professors, some officers, and 
the flower of the city youth. Here and there a 
young student might be seen, thin and pale, 
with smooth lank hair, more fitted to hang dowm 
thoughtfully over books than to ‘float about in 
the giddy dance. But what gave its value to 
this festival was, not the young people, but the 
middle-aged gentlemen and ladies. Among the 
elder gentlemen with grey hair and lively coun- 
tenances, who stood together in groups or 
meandered pleasantly among the ladies, w'ere 
many important faces, with delicately -developed 
features, and brisk, animated, and cheerful de- 
meanour. Among the ladies there were not a 
few who, during the whole of the rest of the 
year, moved noiselessly about the studies of their 
husbands and the nursery, who now saw them- 
selves hi unwonted smart attire displayed under 
the bright glare of lights, and were as shy 
and bashful as they had been long ago in their 
maiden days. 

There was this time, at the beginning of the 
festive meeting, an evident excitemeut in cer- 
tain individual groups. Werner’s tea-party had 
taken for granted that Struvelius would not 
come. But he was there. He stood wrapt in 
thought, with his usual absent look, not far 
from the entrance, and Use and her husband 
had to pass him. When Use walked through 
the ball-room on the Professor’s arm, she saw 
that the eyes of many were directed curiously 
towards her, and a heightened colour rose in her 
cheeks. The Professor led her up to the wife 
of his colleague, Giiuter, who had agreed with 
Use that they were to keep together that even- 
ing, and Use was glad when she found herself 
established on one of the high seats next to the 
cheerful lady ; but she only ventured in the be- 
ginning to look shyly about her. But the smart- 
ness of the room, its fulness, and the many fine 
people who circulated about it, and then the 
first sounds of the ov^erture, raised her spirits. 
She now ventured to look more about her and 
search out her acquaintance, and above all, her 
dear husband. She saw him standing not far 
from the door of the room, in the midst of his 
friends and fellow-professors, towering head and 
shoulders above them. She saw not far from 
the other door his opponent, Stnivelius, standing 
with his little retinue, chiefly of students. Thus 
stood these men, in every way divided, honour- 
ably restraining the angry feelings of their 
bosoms. Many of her husband’s acquaintance 
came up to Use; amongst others the Doctor, 
who bantered her because she had been so fear- 
ful that they should not meet in the confusion 
of strange people. The Mineralogist also came, 
and declared his intention of asking her to dance. 
But Ik,e, earnestly entreating him, said : 

^ “ 1 beg of you not to do it. 1 am not perfect 
in these new city dances, and I might not get 
well through them ; then there would be a talk 
about it, and I had rather not dance. Besides, 
it is not necessary, for 1 am in a very gay mood, 
and it amuses me to look at all the smart 
people.” 


THE PIIOFESSORS^ BALL. 


83 


Soon various strangers approached and were 
presented to her, and she acquired greater dex- 
terity in refusing to dance. 

The Historian now brought his daughter up 
to her, aiid the worthy gentleman at last placed 
himself near Use, and talked to her for a long 
time ; she felt u ith pleasure that this was a 
great distinction. Afterwards she ventured to 
move some steps from her place, in order to 
fetch the wife, of Professor Raschke to sit by 
her. Thus, before long, a charming little circle 
of acquaintance collected themselves about her. 
The pretty Frau Giiuter joked pleasantly, and 
gave her explanations about the strange ladies 
and gentlemen. The wife of the Rector also 
came up, and said she must allow her to sit near 
her, as she observed that all were so merry 
about her. And her “ Magnificence ” shot 
lightning glances about her, which attracted one 
gentleman after another to the group ; and all 
who wished to show their respect for her “ Mag- 
nificence ” paid their compliments also to the 
new lady of the colleague. There wits a coming 
and going all around her like a fair, and Use 
and her “ Magnificence ” sat there like two 
neighbouring stars, the brilliancy of one in- 
creasing that of the other. All went well and 
charmingly. Use was beyond measure de- 
lighted ; and there was certainly about her more 
shaking of hands than comports with the 
etiquette of a ball. When Felix approached her 
once and looked inquiringly at her, she pressed 
the tips of his fingers gently, and gave him 
such a happy smile, that he needed no further 
answer. 

Whilst, during a pause. Use looked along the 
sides of the room, she perceived on the opposite 
side the wife of Professor Struvelius. She wore 
a striking dark dress, and her one Sappho lock 
■hung seriously and sadly from her refined head 
The wife of the enemy looked pale, and her eyes 
were quietly cast down. There was something 
in the bearing of the lady that moved Use’s 
heart, and she felt as if she must go over to her. 
She revolved in her mind whether her Felix 
' .would think it right, and was afraid of meeting 
with a cold objection; but at last she took 
heart, and walked right across the room up to 
the learned lady. 

She had no idea of the effect produced by this 
step. She was much more striking, more 
sharply watched, and those present were more 
occupied with the quarrel betwixt the chiefs 
than she imagined. As she now went with 
firm step up to the other, and already stretched 
out her hand, even before she reached her, there 
was a remarkable stillness in the room, and 
many eyes were directed to both ladies. The 
wife of Struvelius rose stiffly, descended one step 
from her seat, and looked so freezing that Use 
took alarm, and could scarcely frame her lips 
even into the every-day inquiry after her health. 

“ I thank you,” replied the lady. “ I am no 
friend of large societies, only perhaps because I 
am entirely deficient in all the qualifications 
that are necessary for it, for people are only in 
the right place when they have an opportunity 
of making their talents in some way available.” 

“ As to my talents, they will go for nothing,” 
said Use, shyly ; “ but everything is new to me 
here, and therefore, it entertains me much to 


look on, and I should like to have my eyes 
everywhere.” 

“ It is quite a different thing with you,” 
replied the other, coldly. 

Fortunately this embarrassed conversation 
was soon inten*upted, for the wife of the Con- 
sistorial Councillor popped into the group like a 
curious magpie, in order to mediate philan- 
thropically, or to take a part in the striking 
scene. She cut into the conversation, and 
talked for a short time on indifferent subjects. 

Use returned to her place much chilled and a 
little discontented with herself. She had no 
reason for it. The little Giinter said to her, 
gently : 

“That w’as right, and I am much pleased 
with you.” 

Pi’ofessor Raschke darted up to her and did 
not allude to it ; but he called her constantly 
his dear Frau Collega. He asked her anxiously 
whether he could not bring her something good 
— tea or lemonade. He took the finely carved 
fan that Laura had lent her admiringly from 
her hand, and placed it, from regard to her, in 
the breast-pocket of his coat. Then he began 
to amuse her by telling her how, as a student, 
he had taught himself to dance in his ow'u little 
room, in order to please his present wife, and in 
the eagerness of the relation, he began to show 
Use the way in which he had privately learnt 
his first steps. As he was swinging round, the 
sw^ansdowu of the fan projected like a great 
feather out of his pocket, and a new dance 
beginning, the Professor was carried otf with 
Laura’s fan through the whirling couples. It 
was only a few' steps that Use had taken through 
the saloon ; but this little expression of indepen- 
dent will had gained her the good opinion of the 
University ; for, if there had been some remarks 
upon her country manners, now, on the other 
hand, men and women agreed in acknowledging 
that she had heart and character. 

According to old custom, the usual supper 
interposed in the middle of the ball. Worthy 
professors had already w'andered beforehand 
into the neighbouring room, peering at the 
laying of the table, and had carefully placed 
cards in their places and concerted with the 
w'ell-curled waiters about the wine. At last the 
society ranged themselves about the table seated 
in families. Wlien Use went on her husband’s 
arm to her place, she asked, in a low tone : 

“ Was it right in me to go across there ?” 

And he replied, seriously ; 

“ It w'as not wrong.” 

With this she w'as obliged to be content. 

During the supper, “ Magnificus” proposed 
the first toast — “ The academical society” — and 
the gentlemen of the tea-party thought his slight 
allusion to friendly' concord amongst the col- 
leagues touched in an indelicate way on the dis- 
turbing question of the day. But this effect 
passed away immediately in other toasts, and 
Use remarked that the supper speeches here were 
carried on very differently to those in the 
Rolluiaus family. One colleague after another 
clinked the glass ; and how elegantly and in- 
tellectuully they conducted themselves, holding 
their dress-coat-tails, and looking coolly irouud, 
and alluding, in fine sentences, to the guests, 
the ladies, and the rest of human kind. When 


84 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


the corks of the champagne popped, the 
eloquence became overpowering, and two Pro- 
fessors even clinked their glasses at the same 
time. Then rose the Professor of History ; all 
became still. He greeted the new members of 
the University — women as well as men — and 
Use saw that this applied to herself, and looked 
down on her plate. But she w^as frightened 
when she found it becoming more personal, and 
at last her own name, as w^ell as that of the 
wife of the Mineralogist, who w'as sitting 
by Felix, sounded through the room. The 
glasses resounded, a flourish of trumpets w^as 
blown, many colleagues and some of the ladies 
rose up, and proceeded with their glasses 
towards them. A little procession took place 
behind the chairs, and Use and the Mineral- 
ogist’s wife had to clink their glasses inces- 
santly, to bow and return thanks. Wlien Use 
rose blushingly for this pui'pose, her eyes glanced 
involuntarily to the next table, w'here the wufe 
of Struvelius w^as sitting opposite, and she ob- 
served that the latter half moved her glass, 
then quickly drew it back, and looked gloomily 
down. 

The company rose, and now the hilarity began 
in good eai’nest, for the Professors’ wives be- 
came active, and called to mind their old agility. 
There was a changed aspect in the room, for soon 
even respectable middle-aged gentlemen waltzed 
with their own wives. Oh, it w^as a cheering 
and touching spectacle to Use ! Many an old 
dress-coat and boots moved to the measure ; and 
many of the gentlemen danced w'ith various 
slidings of the feet, and bold movements of the 
knees, determined to recall the style of their 
youthful days, and with the feeling that they 
still understood the art. Some of the ladies 
clung shyly to the arms of the dancers, others 
showed how' well they w^ere able to govern at 
home, — how, w'hen the husbands w^ere not suffi- 
ciently learned in the art, they knew how to 
carry them round the circle with vigorous 
swings. “ Magnificus ” danced with his round 
wife very neatly, and Raschke danced with his 
wife and looked triumphantly towards Use. 
The noisy merriment increased ; all Use’s neigh- 
bours were carried aw'ay by the excitement, and 
commenced waltzing. And Use stood looking 
on not far from a pillar ; something came 
behind and touched her j there was the rustling 
of a silk dress, and the wife of Struvelius ap- 
proached her. 

Use looked startled at the large grey eyes of 
the opponent, who began slowly : 

“ 1 consider you noble, and quite incapable of 
any mean feeling.” 

Use bowed slightly, in order to express her 
thanks for the unexpected declaration. 

I go about,” continued Frau Struvelius, in 
her measured way, “ as if a curse were on me. 
What I have suffered the last few w'eeks is un- 
utterable ; this evening I come into the midst 
of this noisy pleasure like an outcast.” Her 
hand trembled, but she continued, with un- 
faltering tone : “ My husband is innocent, and 
is convinced that he is right in the main. It is 
fitting for me, as his wife, to share his views 
and his fate ; but I see him inwardly disturbed 
by an unfortunate entanglement, and I perceive 
with dismay that be may lose the good opinion 


of his most intimate acquaintance, if he sho^ild 
not succeed in solving the doubts which gather 
round his head. Help me ! ” she cried, with a 
sudden outburst, wringing her hands, whilst 
two big tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“ How can I do that ?” asked Use. 

There is a secret in the afiair,” continued 
Frau Struvelius : “ my husband was incautious 
enough to promise unconditional silence, and 
his w^ord is sacred to him ; he is a child in mat- 
ters of business, and is quite at a loss what to 
do in this aflair. What may be necessary to 
justify him must be sought without his know- 
ledge or co-operation. I beg of you not to refuse 
your assistance.” 

“ I can do nothing that my husband w'ould 
disapprove, and I have never had a secret from 
him,” replied Use, seriously. 

“ I desire nothing that the strictest judgmept 
could condemn,” continued the other. “ Your 
husband must be the first to know w’hatever I 
may be able to ascertain, and therefore it is that 
I apply to you. Ah ! not only on that account ; 

I know no one whom I can tinist. What I now 
tell you I have not learnt from Struvelius : he 
received the unfortunate parchment from Ma- 
gister Knips, and he returned it to him.” 

“ Is that the little Magister in our street ?” 
inquired Use. 

“ The same. I must induce the Magister to 
produce the parchment again, or to tell me 
where it is to be found. But this is not a place 
to confer on such a subject,” she exclaimed, as 
the music ceased. “ Situated as our husbands 
now are, I cannot visit you ; it would be too 
painful to me, should I meet your husband, to 
feel his altered demeanour ; but I wish for your 
advice, and beg of you to allow me to meet you 
at some other place.” 

“ If Magister Knips is concerned in the busi- 
ness,” replied Use, with hesitation, “ I w'ould 
propose to you to have recourse to the inmate 
of our house, Laura Hummel. We shall be un- 
disturbed in her room, and she knows more of 
the Magister and his family than we do. But I 
fear we poor women can hardly efiect much.” 

“ I am determined to venture all, in order to 
free my husband from the unworthy suspicion 
which threatens him. Show yourself all that 
you appear to me, and I will thank you on my 
knees.” 

She moved her hand convulsively, and then 
looked about her with an air of indifierence. 

“We shall meet to-morrow,” replied Use; 

“ so far, at least, I can agree to your wishes.” 

They then settled the hour. 

Thus the ladies separated. Frau Struvelius 
once more gazed from behind the pillar with 
her large eyes imploringly at Use; then both 
were intermingled in the throng of the de- 
parting ball-guests. 

After her return home. Use long continued to 
hear in her dreams the music of the dance, and 
saw strange men and women come to her bed- 
side, and she laughed and wondered at the comi- 
cal folk, who at one time seemed to be examining 
whether she was lying in bed without her beau- 
tiful dress and fan. But amidst these amusing 
observations she felt a secret anxiety as to what 
her Felix would say of all these visitors; and 
when she gently sighed over this anxiety, the 


THE PROFESSORS’ BALL. 


85 


dream floated back towards the ivory doors from 
whence it had come. She sank into a sound 
sleep. 

The following morning Use went up to Laura 
and confided to her the events of the evening, 
and the request of Frau Struvelius. The secret 
meeting with the Professor’s wife was quite to 
Laura’s mind. She had for some time past 
more than once heard at the tea-table about the 
mysterious parchment. She thought the deter- 
mination of Frau Struvelius very high-minded, 
and spoke with contempt of anything that 
Magister Knips could contrive. 

Just as the clock struck Frau Struvelius en- 
tered. She looked much oppressed and suffering, 
and one could perceive anxious excitement even 
through her immovable features. 

Use cut short the unavoidable introductory 
compliments and excuses by beginning : 

“ I have told Fraulein Laura of your M’ish to 
obtain the parchment, and she is ready to send 
over directly for Magister Knips.” 

“That is far more than 1 had ventured to 
hope,” said Frau Struvelius. “ I was only pre- 
pared to go to him myself, with you to support 
me.” 

“ He shall come here,” said Laura, decidedly, 
** and he shall answer for himself to us. He has 
always been insupportable to me, although I 
have frequently bought pretty pictures of him. 
His humility is such as does not become a man, 
and 1 consider him at heart a sneak.” 

The cook, Susan, was called, and despatched 
by Laura as a herald to the fortress of Knips. 

“ You are on no consideration to tell him that 
any one is with me, and when he comes bring 
him up directly.” 

Susan returned udth a sly look, and brought 
the Magister’s compliments, and “ hp desired her 
to say he would immediately give himself the 
honour of waiting upon her. He seemed aston- 
ished, but pleased.” 

“ He shall be astonished,” exclaimed Laura. 

The allied ladies sat down round the sofa- 
table, feeling the importance of the task which 
was before them. 

“ Wlien I am talking with him,” began Frau 
Struvelius, solemnly, “ have the kindness to 
attend accurately to his answers, that you may 
in case of necessitj' repeat them, and thus be my 
supporters and witnesses.” 

■ “ I can write quickly,” exclaimed Laura ; “ I 
will write down what he answers, and he cannot 
afterwards deny it.” 

“ That would be too much like a trial,” inter- 
posed Use, “and will only make him suspicious.” 

The furious bark of a dog was heard outside. 

“ He is coming,” cried Frau Struvelius, di’aw- 
ing herself up with dignity. 

A loud step was heard on the stairs, Susan 
opened the door, and Magister Knips entered. 
He did not look dangerous. He was a little 
, ci’ooked man, one might doubt whether he was 
young or old, with a pale face, projecting cheek- 
bones on which were two red spots, eyes screwed 
up as short-sighted people are wont to do, and 
red from much night-work by dull lamps. He 
stood there with his head bent on one side, in a 
threadbare coat, a humble servant, perhaps a 
victim of learning. When he saw the three 
ladies sitting, aU stern and solemn, where his 


heart had only hoped to find one, and among 
them the wives of important men, he stopped 
confounded at the door; he composed himself, 
however, and made three low bows, probably one 
to each lady, but refrained from speaking. 

“ Sit down, Herr Magister,” began Laui*a, 
condescendingly, pointing to an empty chair 
opposite the sofa. 

The Magister approached hesitatingly, pushed 
the chair further out of reach of the three god- 
desses of fate, and with another bow seated 
himself on the corner of the chair. 

“ It must be known to you, Herr Magister,” 
began Frau Struvelius, “ that the last writing of 
my husband has occasioned discussions which 
have been painful to all engaged in them, and I 
assume also to you.” 

Knips made a piteous face, and laid his head 
entirely on one shoulder. 

“ I now appeal to the interest which you take 
in the studies of my husband, and I appeal to 
your heart, when I beseech you to give me 
frankly and straightforwardly the information 
which must be desirable to us all.” 

She stopped ; Knips, with bent head, looked 
askance at her, and was also silent. 

“ I beg for an answer,” cried Frau Struvelius, 
emphatically. 

“ Very willingly, revered lady,” began Knips, 
at last, with piping voice. “I do not know 
what I have to answer you.” 

** My husband received from you the parch- 
ment which gave rise to his last treatise.” 

“ Did the Herr Professor say that to the re- 
vered lady ?” asked Knips, still more piteously. 

“No,” answered Frau Struvelius ; “but I 
heard you come, and I also heard that he pro- 
mised to be silent about something, and when I 
entered his room later, I saw the parchment 
lying on his table, and when I inquired about 
it, he said, ‘ that is a secret.’ ” 

The Magister looked round about uneasily, 
and at last cast his eyes down on his knees, 
which looked unusually polished and smooth 
from M’ear. 

“ If the Herr Professor himself considers 
that the affair is a secret, it is not for me to 
speak of it, even should I, in fact, know any- 
thing about it.” 

“ Then you refuse to give us the informa- 
tion ?” 

“ Ah, revered and kindly-disposed lady, there 
is no one to whom I would rather make a com- 
munication than to the excellent ladies whom I 
have the honour of seeing here, but I am much 
too insignificant to be able to serve you in this.” 

“ And have you taken into consideration the 
embarrassing consequences of your refusal, for 
my husband, for the whole University, and — 
what you, an advocate of truth, must consider 
more important than all — for learning ?” 

Knips acknowledged himselt* to be the advo- 
cate of truth. 

Laura remarked that the examination was 
wandering into bye-paths, on which the parch- 
ment was not to be found ; she jumped up, and 
cried out : 

“ Go out for a little while, Magister Knips; 
I wish to confer with the Professor’s wife.” 

Knips rose very readily, and made a bow. 

“But you must not go away. Go into thf 


36 


THE LOST MANUSCHIPT. 


next room. Come along, I will let you in again 
directly." 

Knips followed her with bended head, and 
Laura came back on tiptoes, and said, in a low 
tone : 

“ I have locked him in that he may not es- 
cape.” 

The ladies put their heads together in close 
consultation. 

“ You deal with him too tenderly, Frau Stru- 
velius,” whispered Laura j “ offer him some 
money, that will allure him. It is hard for me 
to say so, hut I know the Knips family, they are 
egotistical.” 

“I also have thought of that in the ex- 
tremity,” replied Frau Stinivelius, “only I did 
not wish to hurt him by such an offer, if there 
were any manly feeling in him.” 

“ Eh,” exclaimed Laura, “ he is not a man, 
he is only a coward. If he resists at first, offer 
him more. Here is my loose cash ; I beg of you 
take it.” 

She ran to her writing-table and fetched out 
the embroidered pocket-book. 

“ I thank you from my heart,” whispered 
Frau Struvelius, taking out her purse from her 
pocket. “If there is only sufficient,” she said, 
anxiously drawing the strings. “ Let us see 
quickly what we have.” 

“ forbid ! ” cried Laura, hastily. “ It is 
full of gold.” 

“ I have turned into money everything that I 
could,” replied Frau Struvelius, hurriedly; 
“ everything else is of little value.” 

Use took the purses out of the hands of both 
ladies, and said firmly : 

“ That is far too much. We ought not to 
offer him such sums ; we do not know whether 
we should be exposing the poor man to the 
temptation of doing wrong. If we offer him 
money we embark in a transaction which we do 
not thoroughly undeirtand.” 

The others disputed this, and there was much 
eager whispered consultation. At last Laui'a 
decided : 

“ He shall have two pieces of gold, that is 
settled.” 

She hastened out to bring back the prisoner. 

When the Magister entered, Frau Struvelius 
looked so imploringly at Use, that she made up 
her mind to carry on the negotiation. 

“ Herr Magister, we women have set our 
hearts upon having this bit of manuscript with 
which the learned gentlemen have been so much 
occupied, and as you know about it, we beg of 
you to help us to obtain it.” 

A submissive smile played over the lips of 
Magister Knips. 

“ We wish to buy it,” interposed Frau Stru- 
velius ; “ and we beg of you to undertake the 
pm*chase. You shall have the money necessary 
for it.” 

Forgetting their agreement in her intense 
anxirty, she put her hand into her purse and 
counted one louis d’or after another on to the 
table, till Laura sprang up terrified and pulled 
her vehemently by the handkerchief from be- 
hind. 

Knips laid his depressed head again on his 
shoulder, and, like a dog with its eyes fixed on 
the hand of the bread dispenser, he looked at 


the small fingei’S of the Profirssor’s wife, from 
which fell one gold piece after another. 

“ This, and still more, shall be yours,” cried 
Frau Struvelius, “ if you will procure me the 
parchment.” 

The Magister fumbled in his pocket for his 
handkerchief, and wiped his forehead. 

“ It must be well known to the ladies,” he 
said, deprecatingly, “ that I have to read many 
proof sheets, and to work late into the night 
before I can earn the tenth portion of what you 
lay before me. It is a great temptation to me ; 
but I do not believe that I can obtain the strip 
of parchment ; and if I should succeed, I fear it 
will only be upon the condition that it shall not 
get into the hands of any of the Professors, but 
be destroyed here in the presence of the honoured 
ladies and young lady.” 

“ Go out again, Magister Knips,” cried Laura, 
springing up, “ and leave your hat here that you 
may not escape us.” 

The Magister disappeared for the second 
time. Again the women put their heads 
together. 

“ He has the parchment, and he can produce 
it; we know that now,” exclaimed Laura. 

“ We cannot agree to his offer,” said Use. 

It is not fitting for us to take possession of 
the parchment ; it must be examined by our 
husbands, and then returned to the Magister.” 

“ I beg of you to take away all this money,” 
cried Laura, “and permit me now to adopt 
another tone with him, for my patience is at an 
end.” She opened the door : “ Come in, Magis- 
ter Knips. Listen attentively to me. You 
have refused, and the money has disappeared, 
all but two pieces, which may still be yours ; 
but only on the condition that you procure for 
us at once what Frau Struvelius has begged of 
you. For we have clearly seen that you possess 
the strip, and if you still refuse we shall have 
cause to suspect that you have acted dishonour- 
ably in the matter.” 

Knips looked terrified, and raised his hands 
imploringly. 

“ I .shall go directly,” continued Laura, “ to 
your iiiother, and tell her that there is an end 
to all connection between her and our house ; 
and I shall go over to Herr Hahn, and tell him 
of your conduct, that he may set your brother 
at 3 'ou. Your brother is in business, and knows 
what is upright ; and if he does not see it in 
that light Herr Halm will, and it will not be to 
the advantage of your brother. Finally, I teU 
you further, I will at once send over for Herr 
Fritz Hahn and impart everything to him, and 
then he shall deal with you. Ti'hat Fritz Hahn 
can get the better of you, you know, and so do 
I, for I found it as a little girl. 1 know you, 
Herr Magister. We, in our street, are not the 
sort of people who allow ourselves to be hood- 
winked, and we value good conduct in the 
neighbourhood. Therefore, procure the parch- 
ment for us, or you shall learn to know Laura 
Hummel.” 

Thus spoke Laura with flaming eyes, and 
clenching her little hand at the Magister. Use 
looked with astonishment when her eager friend 
introduced into her speech the Doctor as Ajax 
storming at the Magister. 

1 If a discourse is to be judged by its effect. 


THE PROFESSORS’ BALL, 


Laura’s speech was a pattern, for it worked 
most distux’biugly on the Magister. He had 
grown up among the people and customs of 
that little street, and could well appreciate 
the consequences which Laura’s hostility would 
exercise on the needy circumstances of his 
private life. He, therefore, struggled for 
a time for uords, and at last began, in a low 
voice : 

“ As it has gone so far that Fraulein Laura 
even suspects me, I am undoubtedly necessitated 
to tell the highly honoured ladies how the affair 
stands. 1 know a small travelling dealer who 
carries about with him various antiquities — 
wood-cuts, miniatures, and also fragments of 
old manuscripts, and whatever of this kind 
comes in his way. I have frequently obtained 
him customers, and given him information upon 
the value of rare things. This man, during his 
stay here, showed me a collection of old parch- 
ment leaves, concerning which he was already, he 
said, in negotiation with a foreigner. Attention 
being drawn to the double WTiting on the leaves, 
the strip appeared to him striking, and to me 
also. I read some of it, as far as could be made 
out through the paste that lay upon it ; and I 
begged him at least to lend me the parchment 
that I might show it to our men of learning. I 
carried it to Herr Professor Struvelius, and as 
he judged that it might perhaps be worth the 
trouble of examining, I went again to the dealer. 
He told me he would not sell the strip outright, 
but he should like something to be w’ritten 
concerning it, as that would increase its value ; 
and he delivered it into my hands till his return. 
This week he came again to take it away with 
him. I do not know whether it is still to be 
had, or whether he will take this money for it. 
I fear not.” 

The ladies looked at each other. 

“You all hear this statement,” began Frau 
Stiaivelius. “ But why, Herr Magister, did you 
beg my husband to tell no one that the parch- 
ment came from you ?” 

The Magister turned on his chair and looked 
again on his knees embarrassed. 

“ Ah, the revered lady will not be angry if I 
speak out. Herr Professor Werner has always 
been very friendly to me, and I feared that he 
might take it amiss if I did not show him first 
such a discovery. But Herr Professor Struve- 
lius has also a claim to my gratitude, for he has 
graciously intrusted to me the proof sheets and 
table of contents of his new great edition. I 
am, therefore, in fear of offending two valuable 
patrons.” 

This w'as unfortunate, certainly, and not im- 
probable. 

“Oh, do contrive that your husband may 
hear him,” exclaimed Frau Struvelius. 

“ We hope, Herr Magister, that you will 
repeat your words before others who can under- 
stand the import of them better than we do,” 
said Use. 

The Magister expressed his willingness timidly. 

“ But you must procure the parchment,” in- 
terposed Laura. 

Kuips shrugged his shoulders. “ If it is 
possible,” he said; “but I know not w-hether 
the man will give it up for this sum.” 

Frau Sti’uvelius was acain putting her hand 


87 

into her pocket ; but Use held it back, and 
Laura cried out : 

“ We will give no more.” 

Nevertheless,” continued the" Magister, im- 
pelled by the determination of his judges, “ as 
doubts have been raised of its genuineness, the 
parchment may have lost some of its value for 
the dealer. But, highly honoured ladies and 
young lady, if I should succeed in being of 
service to you, I respectfully entreat you not 
to bear any malice against me for the un- 
fortunate share which, without any fault on 
my part, I have had in this sad business. It 
has grieved me much the whole time ; and 
since the words of Herr Professor Werner have 
been printed, I have daily lamented that I ever 
set eyes on the parchment. I should sink into 
an abyss of misery if I were to lose my respected 
patrons.” 

These words excited the compassion of his 
judges, and Frau Struvelius said, kindly: 

“ We believe you, for it is a dreadful feeling 
to have deceived others, even unintentionally.” 

But Laura, who had established herself* as 
president of the council, decided shortly : 

“I beg that all who have taken part in this 
will meet here to-morrow at the same hour. I 
give you till that time, Magister Knips, to pro- 
cure the parchment for us. After the expira- 
tion of this i-espite our washing wdll be w’ith- 
drawm, our house closed to you, and notice given 
to the Hahn family. See, therefore, that we 
ceme to an amicable settlement.” 

The Magister approached the table, with one 
finger drew the gold pieces into the palm of his 
hand, w'hich he modestly held under the edge of 
the table, made three low bows, and took leave 
of the highly honoured ladies. 

Use related the adventure to her husband, 
and Felix listened with astonishment at the 
role which the learned factotum had played in 
the tragedy. 

On the following morning the Magister made 
his appearance before the learned man. Breath- 
less he drew out of his pocket the unfortunate 
strip of parchment, and carried it with bowed 
head and outstretched hand, bending lower and 
lower, humbly and imploringly, from the door 
to the writing-table of the Professor. 

“ I venture to bring this to the Herr Pro- 
fessor, sooner than encounter for a second time 
the higher female dignitaries. Perhaps the 
Herr Professor will graciously deign to deliver 
this through his wife into the hands of its new 
possessor.” 

On the Professor examining him severely, he 
began a statement in defence of himself. What 
he said was not improbable. The name of the 
doubtful trader was known to the Professor. 
He w'as awnre that he had been staying in the 
town during the course of the last few weeks, 
and from the numerous communications that 
Kuips had had with this man in the interest of 
his patrons, there was nothing extraordinary in 
their intimacy. The Professor examined the 
parchment carefully. If there had been a for- 
gery here, it had been carried out in a masterly 
way; but Knips produced a microscope from 
his waistcoat pocket, and pointed out how, by 
means of the magnifying glass, one could dis- 
cover that sometimes the shadowy characters of 


B8 


TIFE LOST MANUSCllll^T. 


the apparently most ancient handwTiting had 
been introduced over the words of the church 
prayers, aud had therefore been painted on at 
a later period. 

“The Herr Professor’s strictures in the ‘Li- 
terary Gazette ’ drew my attention to this, and 
early this morning, when I obtained the parch- 
ment, I carefully examined what had been ren- 
dered indistinct by the paste. So far as I may 
be permitted to have a judgment in such things, 
I now venture to share in Herr Professor’s 
opinion that a forgery has been perpetrated on 
this strip.” 

The Professor threw it on one side. 

“ I lament that you have ever had anything 
to do with it, even though unintentionally ; you 
have done a mischief, the painful effects of which 
you cannot fail to see. I am sorry for it on your 
own aecount. This unfortunate occurrence will 
throw a shadow over your life ; and I would give 
much to be able to wipe it away. For we have 
known one another through much mutual work, 
Herr Magister, and I have felt always a sym- 
pathy in your self-sacrificing activity in favour 
of others. In spite of your book-chatfering, 
which I do not approve ofj and in spite of your 
waste of time in labours which might be done 
by less efficient persons, I have always con- 
sidered you as a man whose extraordinary 
knowledge inspires respect.” 

The humble Magister raised his head, and a 
smile passed over his face. 

“ I have always, Herr Professor, considered 
you as the one, among my distinguished patrons, 
who has the right to tell me that I have learnt 
too little ; you are also, Herr Professor, the 
one to W'hom I venture to confess that I have 
secretly never ceased to esteem myself as a man 
of learning. I hope tliat you will not deny me 
the testimony that I have always been a trust- 
worthy and faithful labourer in that cause.” 

He fell back into his humble attitude, as he 
continued : 

“ What has happened will be a lesson for me 
in future.” 

“I must require more of you. First, you 
must take the trouble of ascertaining through 
your acquaintance the hidden source from which 
this forgery has emanated, for it can scarcely be 
the accidental idea of an unscrupulous man ; it 
is rather the w'ork of an ill-directed industry, 
which will produce still more evil. Further, 
it is your duty at once to deliver the parchment 
to Professor Struvelius, and impart to him your 
discovery. You yourself will do well to be more 
cautious in future in the choice of the traders 
with whom you have intercom’se.” 

In these views Knips fully acquiesced, whilst 
he imploringly besought for the future the kind 
consideration of the Professor. 

“ He has I aiw certain, to some extent been 
concerned in the knavery,” exclaimed the 
Doctor. 

“ No,” rejoined the Professor. “ His fault 
has been, that up to the last moment he cared 
more for his bargain than for the discovery of 
the truth.” 

In the afteiTioon Frau Struvelius said to Use ; 

“What we have succeeded in obtaining has 
been very painful fo’* my husband. For it hits 
convinced him that he was deceived, whilst 


others discovered the true state of the case. Ifc 
is a cruel grief to a wife when she is the instru- 
ment of bringing about such humiliation to him 
she loves best. This sorrow I shall long con- 
tinue to feel. Besides this, our husbands are so 
estranged from one another, that a long time 
will elapse before wounded feelings will admit 
of an impartial estimation of a colleague. I 
have much at heart, however, that the relations 
betwixt you and me should not suffer, I have 
discovered the worth of your heart, and I beg 
of you — in spite of my unprepossessing manner, 
of which I am well aware — to accept the friend- 
ship which I feel for you.” 

As she walked slowly towards the door in her 
black dress. Use looked after her with a feeling 
of surprise, that the first impression made upon 
her by the learned lady should so quickly have 
been obliterated by other feelings. 

In the next number of the “ Literary Gazette,” 
there appeared a short explanation by Pi'ofessor 
Struvelius, in which he honourably acknow- 
ledged that he had been deceived by undoubtedly 
a very expert deception, and that he must be 
grateful to the acuteness and friendly activity of 
his honoured colleague who had contributed to 
the clearing up of the matter. 

“This explanation has been written by his 
wife,” said the obdurate Doctor. 

“We may hope that the disagreeable story 
has come to an end for all concerned in it,” con- 
cluded the Professor, with a light heart. 

But the hopes even of a great scholar are not 
always fulfilled. This quarrel of the sceptre- 
bearing princes of the University had not only 
introduced Use into a new position, but had 
brought another into notice. 

On the evening of the decisive day which 
unveiled the worthlessness of the parchment, 
Magister Knips was squatting on the ground 
in the unwarmed room of his poverty-stricken 
dwelling. Books lay heaped up in disorder, on 
the shelves by the wall and on the floor, and he 
sat surrounded by them, like an ant-lion in his 
den. He removed into a dark corner an old 
cigar chest of his brother’s, which was filled 
with many small bottles and paint-pots, and 
laid the old books upon it. Then he placed the 
lamp on a stool near him, and with secret satis- 
faction took up one old book after another, 
examined the binding, read the title aud last 
page, stroked it caressingly with his hand, and 
then laid it again on the heap. At last he seized 
with both hands an old Italian edition of a Greek 
author, pushed liimself nearer to the lamp, and 
examined it leaf by leaf. 

His mother cried out, through the door : 

“ Leave your books, and come from that cold 
room to your supper.” 

“ This book has not been seen by anj' learned 
man for two hundred years. They deny, mother, 
that it is even existing ; but 1 have it in my 
hands, — it belongs to me ! This is a treasure, 
mother.” 

“ What good will your treasure do you, poor 
youth ?” 

“ I have it, mother,” said the Magister, look- 
ing up at the hard-featured woman, and his 
winking eyes glistened brightly. “To-day I 
have read some proof sheets, in which a man of 
note maintains that this volume which I hold 


THE PllOFESSORS^ BALL. 


89 


here has never existed. He wishes the ‘ never 
existed’ to be printed in italics, and I have 
60 marked it for the compositor, though I know 
better.” 

“ Are you coming ?” called out the mother, 
angrily. “ Your beer is on the stove warming : 
make an end of it.” 

The Magister rose unwillingly, slipped out of 
the room with his felt shoes, and seated himself 
at the table and eat his bread and butter. 

“ Mother,” he said to the woman, who was 
watching his rapid meal, “ I have some money 
remaining ; if you want anything, buy it ; but 
I will know how you spend it, and will see that 
my brother does not borrow the money again of 
you, for it has been earned carefully.” 

Your brother wiU now pay all back, for 
Hahn has improved his position, and he has a 
good income.” 

“ That is not true,” replied the Magister, 
looking sharply at his mother. “ He has be- 
come too elegant to dwell with us now; but when- 
ever he comes he always wants something of you, 
and you have always loved him more than me.” 

“ Do not say so, my son,” cried Frau Knips. 

He is quite of another character ; you are 
always industrious, quiet, and collected, and 
even as a small boy you began to save.” 


“ I have obtained for myself what was dear 
to me,” said the Magister, looking towards his 
room, “ and I have found much.” 

“ Ah, what hardships you suffer for it, my 
poor child ! ” said the mother, coaxingly. 

“ I take things as they come,” answered the 
Magister, making a cheerful grimace. “ I read 
proof sheets, and I do much work for these 
learned men, who drive in carriages like people 
of distinction, and when I come to them they 
treat me like a Roman slave, l^o man knows 
how often I correct their stupid blunders, and 
the great faults in their Latin. But I do not do 
it for all, — only for those who have deserved 
well of me. I let the mistakes of the others 
remain, and I shrug my shoulders ' secretly at 
their empty heads. All is not gold that glitters,” 
he said, holding his thin beer complacently up 
to the light, “ and I alone know the value .of 
many. I am always correcting their miserable 
manuscripts, but do not correct their worst 
errors. I see how they torment themselves, and 
the little they do know they pilfer from foreign 
books. One sees that every day, mother, and 
one laughs in secret over the course of the 
world.” 

And Magister Knips laughed at the world. 


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BOOK II 


CHAPTER XVII. 

In the houses of the park there reigned peace, 
forbearance, and secret hope. Since the arrival 
of Use the old strife seemed to have ceased, and 
the war-axe to have been buried. It is true 
that Huinmel’s dog snarled and snapped at 
Hahn’s cat, and got a pat on the ear in return ; 
and the porter, Rothe, of A. C. Hahn, declared 
his contempt of the storekeeper of the factory 
of H. Hummel. But these little occurrences 
passed like inoffensive air-bubbles which rise up 
in the place where once there was a blustering 
whirlpool of enmity. The intercourse of life 
between the two houses flowed like a clear 
brook, and forget-me-nots grew on its shores. 
If a misanthropical spell had adhered to the 
ground at the time when Frau Knips ruled 
alone there, it had now been expelled by female 
exorci,ts. 

One morning, shortly before the fair, a book- 
seller’s porter placed a pile of new books on the 
Doctor’s writing-table : they were the first 
copies of the first great work he had written. 
Fritz opened the book, and looked for a moment 
in quiet enjoyment on the title-page; then he 
hastily seized his pen, wrote in the copy some 
affectionate words, and carried it to his parents. 

The book treated, to use Gabriel’s expression, 
of the old Indians as well as of the old*Germans ; 
it entered into the life of our ancestors before 
the time in which they took the sensible resolu- 
tion of making pretty Brocken* nosegays on 
the Blocksberg and rinsing their drinking horns 
in Father Rhine. It was a very learned book, 
and it unveiled, so far as the knowledge of the 
writer reached, many of the secrets of antiquity. 

It was not necessary for strangers to inform 
the father and mother to whom Fritz now car- 
ried the book, of its importance. The mother 
kissed her son on the forehead, and could not 
control her emotion when she saw his name 
printed in such large and beautiful characters 
on the title-page ; but Herr Halm took the book 
in his hands, and carried it into the garden. 
There he laid it on the table of the Chinese 
temple, read the dedication several times, and 
took some turns round the pavilion, — occa- 
sionally looking in again in order to observe 
whether the style of building looked well in 
connection unth the book; then he cleared his 
throat in order to master his joyful emotions. 

Not less was the pleasui*e in the study of the 
Professor; he went hastily through the book 
from beginning to end. “ It is remarkable,” 
he then said, much pleased, to Use, “ how 
boldly and firmly Fritz grapples with the sub- 
ject ; and, moreover, witli a self-control for 
which I should not in a general way have given 
him credit. There is much in it that is quite 

* A mountain in Germany, famous in popular tradi- 
tion as the great rendezvous of evil spirits on the night 
of the 1st of May ; as such called Blocksberg. 


new to me. I am surprised that he snould 
have concluded the work so quickly and 
secretly.” 

What the learned world thought of the 
Doctor’s book may be known from many 
printed eulogiums. It is more difficult to esti- 
mate how it worked in his own street. Herr 
Hummel studied in his paper a detailed review 
of the work, not without audible marks of dis- 
approbation; he hummed at the word Veder and 
grumbled at the name of Humboldt, and ho 
whistled through his teeth at the praise which 
was accorded to the deep learulug of the author. 
When at the conclusion the reviewer gave 
formal thanks in the name of science to the 
Doctor, and urgently recommended the work to 
all readers, Herr Hummel’s humming broke 
into the melody of the old Dessauers, and he 
threw the paper on the table. I do not intend 
to buy it,” was all that he vouchsafed to say to 
his ladies. But he looked in the course of the 
day at the corner of the hostile house where the 
Doctor’s room lay, and then again at his own 
upper story, as if lie wished to weigh the com- 
parative merits of both the learned men and 
their abodes. 

When Use told Laura her husband’s judgment 
of the book, Laura coloured a little, aud replie<l, 
throwing back her head : “ I hope it is so 
learned that w'e need not meddle with it.” This 
disinclination, however, to embark in it did not 
prevent her some days later from beggpng the 
book of the Professor, because she wished to 
show it to her mother. On this occasion, how- 
ever, it was carried to her private room, where 
it lingered for a long time. 

Among the other inhabitants of the street, 
the importance of the Hahn family — whose 
name had acquired such renown, aud whose 
Fritz was praised so much in the papers — was 
greatly increased. The scales of popular favour 
sank decidedly on the side of this house, and 
even Hummel found it cxpedieut not to object 
to his family speaking with moderate approba- 
tion of their neighbour’s son. When Dorchen, 
as sometimes happened, met Gabriel in the 
streets, she even ventured to accompany him for 
a few minutes into the courtyard of the enemy, 
in spite of the growling of the dog and the black 
looks of the master. 

One w’arm evening in March she had just, in 
passing by, said a few civil words to Gabriel, 
and tripped neatly across the street to her own 
house door, whilst Gabriel looked after her fuU 
of admiration, when Herr Hummel came out 
and observed the last greeting aud lo<)k of 
Gabriel. 

“ She is as pretty as a red-tail,” said Gabriel 
to Herr Hummel. The latter shook his head 
benevolently. “I observe, Gabriel, how the 
wind blows, and I say nothing, for it would he 
of no use. But one piece of good advice I will 
give you. You do not understand how to deal 


THE DECEPTION OF HERR HUMMEL. 


01 


with womankind; you are not rough enough 
with the maiden. When I was young they 
trembled if I waved my pocket-handkerchief, 
and yet ran about mo like ants. This race must 
be frightened ; they get spoilt with kindness. 
I esteem you, Gabriel, and therefore I give you 
this counsel as a friend. Look you, there is 
Madame Hummel. She is tolerably energetic, 
but I keep her under restraint; if I were not to 
growl, she would do so. Now, as there must be 
growling, it is more agreeable to me to do it 
myself.” 

“ Every animal has its ways,” replied Gabriel. 
** I have no aptitude for being a growling bear.” 

“ It can be learnt,” said Herr Hummel, benig- 
nantly. He raised his eye-brows, and made a sly 
grimace. “ They are undertaking something in 
the garden over there, probably speculating again 
on some new fancy^ to which I, in due time, 
shall take upon me, under all circumstances, to 
give the right name;” — he lowered his voice; — 
“ something anonymous has been unpacked, and 
conveyed into the garden.” With a feeling of 
indignation at his own anticipations, he con- 
tinued : “ Believe me, Gabriel, the world will 
become cowardly from this over-educating child- 
ren; and men throng so together, that there 
ceases to be freedom ; life is now slavery from 
the cradle to the grave. If I choose to dig a 
hole on this spot into the centre of the earth, no 
man can prevent me ; and yet, on my own pro- 
perty, we cannot express an outspoken opinion ; 
and why ? because it might be heard, and dis- 
please the ears of strangers. To such a point 
have we come, a man is the servant of his neigh- 
bours. Now, only think, I have but one op- 
posite to me ; on the other side I am protected 
by the water and the factory, yet I must swallow 
the truth, as I dare not speak out beyond my 
boundary. He who is surrounded on all sides by 
neighbours must lead a lamentable life ; he can- 
not even cut off his head in his own garden 
without the whole neighbourhood raising a cry, 
because the sight is not pleasing to them.” He 
jjointed with his thumb to the neighbouring 
house, and continued, confidentially : “ Now we 
are reconciled, the women would not rest until 
we were ; and, I assure you, over there they are 
deficient in true courage to carry on a quaiTel; 
the aftair became tedious, and so I gave in.” 

“ Yet it is well that all should be orderly,” 
said Gabriel. “ If the fathers quarrel, how can 
the children meet on good terms ?” 

“Why should they not make faces at each 
other ?” cried Hummel, crossly. “ 1 can’t bear 
eternal curtseying.” 

“ That every one knows,” replied Gabriel. 
** But when Fraulcin Laura meets the Doctor in 
our apartment, which often happens, she cannot 
gro^vl at him.” 

“ So they meet often,” repeated Hummel, 
thoughtfully. “ There you have again an in- 
stance of the overcrowding ; they cannot get out 
of each other’s way. Now, I am certain of my 
daughter, Gabriel; she is quite of my nature.” 

“ 1 do not know that,” replied Gabriel, laugh- 
ing. ^ 

“ I assure you she is quite of my mind,” 
affirmed Hummel, decidedly. “ But, as con- 
terns this peace, you need not rejoice so much 
at it ; for, depend upon it, it cannot last long 


between our houses. Wlien the ice has thawed, 
and the garden amusements begin, there will bo 
quarrelling again. It has always been so and I 
do not see why it should not remain so, in spite 
of reconciliations, and in spite of your new house- 
hold, from which, nevertheless, I do not with- 
hold my respect.” 

The conversation, which had been carried on 
in the garden, was interrupted by a dark, 
solemn-looking man, who presented a large letter 
in a coloured envelope, and introduced himself 
to Herr Hummel, bringing him an invitation for 
his absent daughter to undertake the office of 
godmother to a baby that had been just born to 
narrow still more the space in the world. To 
this invitation no objection could be made ; the 
young mother, the wife of a lawyer, was 
Laura’s friend, and daughter of her respected 
godmother. There had been an old family con- 
u ction, and Hummel, as father and citizen, 
tcok upon himself with dignity the ceremonial 
of delivering the invitation. 

“ For whom is the other letter you have m 
your hand ?” he asked, of the servant. 

“For Herr Doctor Hahn, who is to stand 
with the Fraulein Laura.” 

“ Indeed !” said Hummel, ironically ; “ it goes 
on coach-wheels. Take your letter over there. 
Did I not tell you so, Gabriel ?” he added, turn- 
ing to his confidant. “ Scarcely reconciled be- 
fore the tribunal, and at once sponsors together; 
no man can answer for it but that to-morrow 
morning the straw man over there will come and 
offer me brotherhood. There you have the con- 
sequences of this over-cramming and of Chris- 
tianity. This time my poor child is the victim.” 

He took the letter into the room and tlmew 
it down on the table before his ladies. 

“ This comes from your reconciliation, you 
weak women,” he cried, grumbling. “ Here 
you will be encumbered with the nurse, and 
midwife, and godfather.” 

The ladies studied the letter, and Laura 
thought it inconsiderate in her godmother just 
to have chosen the Doctor for her pai'tuer. 

“ It is convenient for the godmother’s car- 
riage,” exclaimed Hummel, mockingly, from his 
corner. “ It can convey two in one journey. 
Now, Humboldt from over there will come in 
white gloves into this room in order to fetch you 
to church, and I think he has impudence enough 
to send you the godfather’s greeting.” 

“ If he did not do so it would be an offence,” 
replied the wife. “ He must do it, or it would 
give occasion for people to talk. We cannot 
object to it; he will send a basket of flowers 
with the godmother’s gloves, and Laura will 
send him in return the pocket-handkerchief, as 
is the custom among our acquaintances. You 
know that Laura’s godmother holds to these 
things.” 

“ His flowers in our house, his gloves on our 
fingers, and our handkerchief in his pocket !” 
said the master of the house, querulously; 
“ that will be right merry.” 

“ I beg of you, Hummel,” rejoined his wife, 
displeased, “ do not annoy us by finding fault 
with the civilities which are unavoidable on 
such an occasion, and of which no one takes 
advantage.” 

“ 1 thank you for your civilities which one 


92 


THE LOST MANUSCRIFT. 


♦ 


cannot avoid, and to which no one attributes 
anythin". Nothing is so insupportable to me, 
among the people here, as their eternal civilities 
befoi’e one’s face, whilst they pull one to pieces 
behind one's back.” 

He left the room and closed the door, not 
gently. 

The mother then began : 

He has nothing really to say against it ; he 
only wishes to maintain his character for stern- 
ness. It is the more necessary that you should 
Bcud a godfather’s greeting to the Doctor, as 
you still owe him some attention on account of 
the shepherd.” 

Laura was reconciled to the thought of be- 
coming godmother with the Doctor, and said : 

“ I will make a design for the corner of the 
handkerchief, and will embroider it.” 

The following morning she went out to buy 
cambric. But Herr Hummel also went out. 
He visited an acquaintance who was a furriei’, 
took him confidentially on one side, and ordered 
a pair of gloves of white cat’s skin for a small 
haud ; he desired that at the point of each 
finger a cat’s claw might be fastened. But he 
wished it to be a delicate one of unborn cat, or 
failing that, of a very young kitten, and that 
the claw should stand out stiffly. Then he en- 
tered another shop and asked for some coloured 
printed cotton pocket-handkerchiefs — such as 
one buys for a few gi’oschen — and chose one 
black and red, with a frightful portrait, that 
just suited his frame of mind. This acquisition 
he put in his pocket. 

The christening morning arrived. In the 
house of Herr Hummel the flat-irons clattered ; 
the mother added some last stitches ; and Laura 
went busily up and down stairs. Meanwhile, 
Hummel wandered between the door of the 
house and the factory, watching every person 
that entered. Speihahn was sitting on the 
threshold, growling whenever the foot of a 
stranger approached the door of the house. 

“ Show yourself as you are, Speihahn,” grum- 
bled Hummel, approaching his dog; “and catch 
hold of the young woman from yonder by the 
dress ; she will not venture in if you keep 
watch.” 

The red dog answered by showing his teeth 
maliciously to his own master. 

“ That’s right,” said Hummel, and continued 
his walk. 

At last Dorchen appeared at her own house- 
door, and tripped with a covered basket in her 
hand to the steps of Herr Hummel. Speihahn 
rose grimly, uttered a hoarse growl, and bristled 
up his hair. 

“ Call the frightful dog away, Herr Hummel,” 
cried Dorchen, snappishly. “ I have a commis- 
sion to Fraulein Laura.” 

Hummel assumed a benevolent expression, and 
put his hand in his pocket. 

“ The ladies are at work, my pretty child,” he 
said, drawing out a heavy piece of money ; 

“ perhaps I can execute it.” 

The messenger was so much startled at the 
unexpected courtesy of the tyrant, that she 
made a silent curtsey and let the basket pass 
out of her hand. 

“ It shall be taken ti e greatest care of,” said 
Herr Hummel, with an engaging smile. 


He carried the basket into the house, and 
called Susan to take it to the ladies ; alter 
whieh he went again into the hall, and stroked 
the dog. It M'as not long before he heard the 
door of the sitting-room fly open and his name 
called loudly in the hall. He entered cautiously 
into the ladies’ room, and found them in a dread- 
ful state of disturbance. A beautiful basket was 
standing on the table, flowers lay scattered about, 
and two little fur gloves, with large claws at the 
ends of the fingers, lay on the ground, like the 
claws cut off a beast of prey. Laura was sitting 
before them sobbing. 

“ Holloa,” cried Hummel, “ is that one of the 
godmother’s pleasures ?” 

“ Henry,” cried his wife, vehemently, “ your 
child has received an insult : the Doctor has 
ventured to send these to your daughter.” 

“ Eh !” cried Hummel ; “ cats’ paws, and 
with claws ! why not, they will keep you warm 
in church ; you can lay hold of the Doctor with 
them.” 

“ It must be a joke,” cried Laura, hot tears 
flowing down her cheeks ; “ it is because I have 
sometimes teased him. I should never have be- 
lieved him capable of such rudeness.” 

“ Do you know him so well ?” inquired 
Hummel. “Now if it is a joke, as you say, 
take it as a joke ; this emotion is unnecessary.” 

“ What is to be done now ?” cried the mother ; 
“can she still stand godmother with him after 
this insult ?” 

“I should think so,” replied Hummel, ironi- 
cally ; “ this insult is a childish afl'air compared 
to others — compared to house-building, bell- 
ringing, and dog-poisoning. If you can swal- 
low all this, why not also cats’ paw’s ?” 

She had herself hemmed and embroidered a 
handkerchief for him,” exclaimed the mother ; 

“ and she had taken the greatest pains to get it 
ready.” 

“ I will not send it to him,” cried Laura. 

“ So you have yourself hemmed and embroi- 
dered it,” rejoined Herr Hummel. “ It is 
charming to live in friendship with one’s neigh- 
bours. You are weak women-folk, and you take 
the business too seriously. These are courtesies 
which one cannot avoid; and to which no im- 
portance is attached. Act, then, according to 
your own words. You must just send the thing 
over to him. You must not give occasion to 
him or any one to make remarks. Keep your 
contempt to yourself.” 

“ Father is right,” cried Laura, springing up ; 

“ away with the handkerchief, and my account 
with the Doctor will be closed for ever.” 

“ That is right,” assented Hummel. “ Where 
is the rag ? away with it.” 

The handkerchief lay ready on a plate, wrapped 
up in fine blue paper, and also covered with 
spring flowers. 

“ So this is the hemmed and embroidered 
thing. We will send it over immediately.” 

He took the plate trom the table, and cairied 
it hastily into his factory ; from thence the blue 
packet went, with many compliments, to the 
godfather in the house of the enemy. 

Frau Hahn brought the compliments and pre- 
sents into her son’s room. 

“ Ah, that is a charming attention,” cried th« 
Doctor, closely examiuing the flowers. 


93 


THE DECEPTION OF HERR HUMMEL. 


“ So it has come to this, that presents are 
sent to the gentlemen also,” said the mother, 
with satisfaction. “ I have always thought it 
well not to be too precise about such matters.” 

She unfolded the paper inquisitively, and 
looked astounded. A printed cotton handker- 
chief lay within, as thick as leather, woven 
with coarse threads. It might be only a cover ; 
in this hope she unfolded it, but a horrible head 
alone appeared in the devil’s colours, red and 
black. 

“ lliat is not a pretty joke,” said the mother, 
vexed. 

The Doctor looked downcast. “ I have some- 
times teased Laura Hummel. This probably 
has reference to some bantering that has passed 
between us. I beg of you, mother, to place the 
flowers in a glass.” 

He took the handkerchief, concealed it in a 
drawer, and bent again over his writing. 

“ I should not have expected this of Laura,” 
continued the mother, much disturbed. But as 
her son did not encourage further complaints, 
she arranged the flowers for him and left the 
room, revolving in her motherly heart the mor- 
tification of her child. 

The carriage drove up and the Doctor got 
into it to fetch the godmother. 

“ Our doors are so near,” said Herr Hummel, 
who was standing at the window, “ that he will 
only just have time to creep out at the other 
side.” 

After some difficulty in turning, the carriage 
arrived at the steps of Herr Hummel. The 
servant opened the door, but before the Doctor 
could jump down Susan appeared on the steps 
and called out : 

“ Do not take the trouble of entering, the 
young lady will come immediately.” 

Laura swept down the steps, veiled in white 
as in a snowcloud; and how pretty she looked. 
Her cheeks were indeed paler than usual, and 
her brows were gloomily knit, but the sad ex- 
pression gave an enchanting dignity to her 
countenance. She avoided looking at the 
Doctor, only slightly moving her head to his 
greeting, and when he offered his hand to assist 
her, she passed by him and seated herself in her 
place as if he were not in existence. He had 
some difficulty in finding room for her ; she 
nodded across him to Herr Hummel, who was 
standing on the steps looking far more cheerful 
than his child. The horses trotted slowly on ; 
the pale Laura looked neither to the right nor 
to the left. “ It is her first time of officiating 
as godmother,” thought the Doctor, “ which 
causes this solemn mood; or perhaps it is re- 
pentance about the coloured handkerchief!” 
He looked at her hands ; the gloves that he sent 
were not to be seen. “ Have I oflended against 
etiquette ? ” he thought, again, “ or were they 
t<X) large for the little hands ? ” 

“ He is silent,” she thought, “ that is his bad 
conscience ; he is thinking of the cats’ claws, 
and has not a word of thanks for my pocket- 
handkerchief; I have been sadly mistiiken in 
him.” This consideration made her so sorrow- 
ful that tears again rose in her eyes ; but she 
pressed her lips tightly together, squeezed the 
thumb of her right hand, and secretly counted 
from one up to ten, an old recipe she had 


formerly used for restraining vehement feel- 
ing. 

“Things cannot go on so,” thought the 
Doctor, “ I must speak to her. — You have not 
been able to use the gloves that I ventured to 
send you,” he began, modestly ; “ I fear I have 
selected them ill.” 

This was too much ; Laura turned her head 
with strong emotion towards the Doctor. He 
saw for a moment two flashing eyes, and hoard 
the contemptuous words ; “ I am no cat.” Again 
her lips were compressed, and she clenched her 
hand convulsively. 

Fritz reflected with astonishment whether 
puckered gloves would ever have been con- 
sidered a characteristic sign of our domestic 
animal. He found the connection unfathomable. 
“ What a pity that she gets in such tempers ! ” 
He began again, after a time : “ I fear you will 
feel the draught ; shall I close the window ? ” 

“ 1 thank you,” replied Laura, with icy cold- 
ness. 

“ Do you know what the baby is to be called ? ” 
continued the doctor. 

“ He is to be called Fritz,” answered Laura ; 
and for the second time a flaming look of anger 
met his spectacles, then again her profile u’^as 
turned to him. 

Ah ! in spite of the lightning that flashed 
from her eyes, the Doctor could not conceal from 
himself that she was at this moment wonderfully 
lovely. She now felt herself obliged to speak, 
and began, over her shoulder : — 

“ I think the name a very common one.” 

“ It is my own name,” replied the Doctor ; 
“ and as I hear it every day I must agree with 
you. It is at least a German name,” he added, 
good humouredly. “ It is a pity that these are 
so much neglected.” 

“ As my name is a foreign one,” replied Laura, 
again over her shoulder, “ I have a right to 
prefer foreign names.” 

“ If she continues like this the whole day,” 
thought Fritz, discouraged, “ I shall have a very 
unpleasant time of it.” 

“ I must sit next him at dinner, and bear the 
insult,” thought she. “ Ah 1 life is terrible.” 

They arrived at the house, both glad to find 
themselves amongst others. When they entered 
the room, they hurried to different sides of it ; 
but, of course, being obliged to greet the young 
mother, they again came across each other. 
When Laura turned to her godmother, the 
Doctor also approached from the other side, and 
the good lady called to mind the day ■when they 
had come together to her summer residence, and 
she could not refrain from exclaiming : “ That 
portends something; you have again come to- 
gether, dear children.” 

Laura raised her head proudly, and replied ; 
“ Only because you have chosen it.” 

They went to church. The little Fritz turned 
round in his godmother’s arms, frightened at the 
baptismal font ; but when he was delivered over 
to the tall Fritz, he broke out into an angry 
cry; and Laura observed with contempt how 
discomposed the Doctor was, and what awkward 
attempts he made, by raising and lowering his 
arms, and by his looks, to appease the little 
squaller, till at last the monthly nurse — a very 
determined woman — came to his assistance. 


THE LOST MAHUSCEIPT. 




As sunset approached, the more insupportable 
became the duties of the day. At the christening 
feast all Laura’s most gloomy anticipations were 
fulfilled, for she sat by the Doctor ; and it was 
to both a most disagreeable metil. The Doctor 
again ventured to make some advances to break 
through her incomprehensible mood, but he 
might as well have attempted to thaw the ice 
of a glacier with a lucifer match, for now Laura 
had become an adept in breathing the cold air 
of social contempt. She spoke exclusively to the 
other godfather, who sat by her side, and in his 
cheerful conversation recovered the elasticity of 
her spirits; whilst Fritz became more silent, and 
strikingly neglected a pleasing young woman, 
his left-hand neighbour. But things became 
worse. When the proper time approached, the 
other godfather, a city councillor, a man of the 
world and a good speaker, came behind the 
Doctor’s chair, and declared that he could not 
undertake the christening toast as he had a 
headache, which drove away all his thoughts, 
and that the Doctor must speak in liis stead. 
The possibility of this had never occurred to the 
Doctor, and it was so unpleasant to him in his 
present mood that he quietly, but firmly, re- 
sisted the proposal. Laura again listened with 
deep contempt to the struggle between the two 
gentlemen about an oratorical exercise which 
Avas not even to be put in writing. The master 
of the house also remarked it, and a feeling 
of awkward expectation threAv a gloom over 
the society, which is not calculated to encou- 
rage after-dinner speakers, but rather to depress 
them, and scatter their thoughts. Just, how- 
cvei*, as the Doctor was on the point of per- 
forming his duty, Laura, after giving him 
another cold look, rose and clinked her glass. 
She was greeted with a loud bravo; and she 
then said, to the astonishment of herself, and 
delight of all present ; “ As the gentlemen spon- 
sors are so little inclined to do their duty, I beg 
pardon for undertaking what they ought to have 
done.” Thereupon, she bravely led the cheer; 
it was a bold undertaking, but it was successful, 
and she was overwhelmed with applause. On 
the other hand, sarcastic speeches were directed 
to the Doctor by the assembled gentlemen. 
Nevertheless, he extricated himself tolerably, 
for the situation was so desperate that it re- 
stored to him his powers; nay, he hiul the impu- 
dence to declare that he delayed intentionally, 
in order to procure for the society the pleasure 
which all must have experienced in listening to 
the .elociuence of his neighbour. He then made 
an amusing speech on every possible subject; 
and all laughed, but they did not know what he 
Avas aiming at, till he turned it adroitly to the 
godmother, and proposed the health of the female 
sex,, and especially of his neighbour. This an- 
SAvered Avell enough for the other guests, but to 
Laura it was an insutferable mockery and hypo- 
crisy; and when she had to clink glasses Avith 
him, she looked so indignantly at him, that he 
quickly withdreAV his glass. 

He now began to show his indifference after 
his fashion ; he talked loudly to his neighbour, 
and drank many glasses of wine. Laura drew 
her chair away from him ; he became an object 
of annoyance to her, and she AA'as now very 
quiet. But the Doctor took no heed of this ; 


he again clinked his glas-s, and made another 
speech, which Avas so comical that it proilucod 
the happiest effect on the company. But Laura 
sat as stiff as a stone image, only casting occa- 
sional stolen glances on one side. After that 
the Doctor left his chair, Avhich remained vacant, 
but, figuratively speaking, the cotton pocket- 
handkerchief and the small fur gloves lay upon 
it, and it seemed quite uneasy under its invisible 
burden. The Doctor, meanwhile, went round 
behind the dinner party, making little visits; 
and wherever he stopped there aa’os laughing 
and clinking of glasses. When he had finished 
his round, he approached the host and hostess; 
and Laura heard them thank him for the merry 
evening, and extol the gaiety of his spirits. 

He then returned to his place ; and noAV he 
had the impudence to turn to Laura, and, Avith 
an expression in Avhich she clearly perceived a 
sneer, held out his hand to her under the table, 
saying, “ Let us make peace, naughty godmother ; 
give me your hand.” Laura’s whole heart re- 
volted, and she exclaimed, “ You shall have my 
hand immediately.” She put her hand quickly 
into a secret pocket, put on one of the cat’s- 
skin gloA'es, and scratched him Avith it on the 
back of his hand. “ There, take Avhat you de- 
serA^e.” 

The Doctor felt a shaiq) pain ; he raised his 
hand, and he perceived it was tattooed Avith red 
streaks. Laura thrcAV the glove into his lap, 
and added : “ If I AA’ere a man, I Avould make 
you feel, in another waA', that you have insulted 
me.” 

The Doctor looked round him ; his left-hand 
neighbour had risen ; and on the other side, the 
master of the house, bending over the table, 
formed a convenient wall between them and the 
outer AA'orld. He looked astonished at the chal- 
lenged glove on his lap ; it Avas all incompre- 
hensible to him ; but he had only one feeling, 
that Laura, in spite of her passion, was enchant- 
ingly beautiful. 

He also put his hand into his pocket, and 
said : “ Happily, I am in a position to lay your 
present of this morning over the scars.” He 
took out the red and black handkerchief, and 
began to wind it round the Avounded hand ; in 
doing AA-^hich, it could not fail to be seen that 
the hand had a most uncanny and murderous 
appearance. When Laura saw the bloody 
scratches, she Avas shocked, but she bravely con- 
cealed her repentance, saying, coldly, “ At lefist 
it would be better for your hand if you Avould 
take my handkerchief as a bandage, instead of 
that stiff clumsy thing.” 

“ It is your handlverchief,” replied the Doctor, 
sorrowfully. 

“This is Avorst of all,” cried Laura, Avith 
quivering voice. “You hav^e to-day behaved 
towards me in a way that is most degrading to 
me, and I ask you, what have I done to d^'serve 
such treatment ?” 

“ What haA'c I done to deserve these re- 
proaches ?” asked the Doctor. “ You sent mo 
this morning this godmother’s greeting.” 

“ I ?” cried Laura ; “you sent me these cal’s 
paAvs. I did not send that handkerchief. My 
handkerchief had none of the beautv' of this 
coloured print, — it Avas only white.” 

“ I may say the same of my gloves ; they had 


THE DECEI^TION OF HERR HUMMEL. 


95 




Dot the advantage of possessing claws, — they 
were of common leather.” 

Laura turned to him, gazing anxiously in his 
face. “ Is that true ?” 

“ It is true,” said the Doctor, with convincing 
sincerity j “ I know nothing of these gloves.” 

“ Then we are both victims of a deception,” 
cried Laura, confounded. “ Oh, forgive me, 
and forget what has passed.” Guessing the 
state of the case, she continued : “ I beg of you to 
say no more on the subject. Permit me to bind 
your hand with this handkerchief.” 

He held out his hand, she dried the fingers 
with her handkerchief, and wound it hastily 
over the scars. 

“ It is too small for a bandage,” she said, sor- 
row'fully ; “we must put your own over it. 
This has been an odious day, Herr Doctor. Oh, 
forget it, and do not be angry with me.^’ 

The Doctor w’as by no means inclined to be 
angry, as might be perceived from the eager 
conversation into which they now fell. The 
hearts of both had become light, wdiich they 
mutually tried to show each other ; and when 
the carriage set them dowm at their ow n doors, 
they w'ished each other a cordial good-night. 

The following morning, Herr Hummel entered 
Laura’s private room, and laid a blue paper on 
the table. 

“ There w'as a mistake yesterday,” he said; 
“ here is w’hat belongs to you.” 

Laura opened the paper quickly ; it contained 
an embroidered bandkerchief. 

“ I have also sent back the gloves to the 
Doctor, with my compliments, informing him 
that there was a mistake, and that I, your 
father, Hummel, send him w'hat belongs to him.” 

“ Father,” cried Laura, going up to him, 
*‘this new insult was unnecessary. You may 
inflict upon me whatever your hatred to your 
neighbours prompts you to do, but that, after 
W’hat passed yesterday, you should again wound 
another is cruel of you. This handkerchief 
belongs to the Doctor, and I shall give it him 
on the first opportunity.” 

“Right,” said Hummel; “it is hemmed and 
embroidered by your own hands. What you do 
now is on your own responsibility. But you 
know’, and he also knows, what I feel about 
these civilities betw’een us and them. If you 
choose to act contrary to my decided w ill, you 
may. I do not agree to our household being on 
the footing of exchanging presents, either small 
or great, with the Hahns; and since you, as I 
hear, often meet the Doctor at our lodgers’, it 
will be as w’ell for you to bear this in mind.” 

He went complacently to the door, and left 
his daughter in rebellion against his harsh rule. 
She had not ventured to contradict him, for he 
W’as to-day in a calm state, diiferent from his 
usual blustering manner, and she felt there was 
a meaning in his words that closed her mouth 
and brought the blood into her cheeks. It was 
a stormy morning for the secret journal. 

Herr Hummel was busy at his counter with a 
delivery of soldiers’ caps, when he was disturbed 
by a knock at the door, and, to his surprise, 
Fritz Hahn entered. Hummel remained sitting 
w’ith dignity, till the other had made a respect- 
ful bow, then he rose slowly, and began, in a 
business tone : — 


“ How can I serve you, Herr Doctor ? If 
you require a fine felt hat, as I presume you do, 
the shop is some steps lower.” 

“I know’ it,” replied the Doctor, politely'. 
“ I come in the first place to thank you for the 
handkerchief you so kindly selected and sent 
me as a present yesterday.” 

“ Not amiss,” said Hummel. “ It is the old 
Blucher that is painted upon it ; he is a bit of 
a countryman of mine, and I thought on that 
account the handkerchief would be acceptable to 
you.” 

“ Quite right,” answered Fritz ; “ I shall 
carefully preserve it as a remembrance. I, at 
the same time, add to my thanks the request 
that you will deliver these gloves to Fraulein 
Laura. Y'esterday a mistake occurred in the 
delivery, as she kindly informed me ; so it was 
not my fault. As these gloves already belong 
to your daughter, I, of course, cannot t^e them 
back.” 

“ Not amiss, again,” said Hummel ; “ but you 
are in error. The gloves do not belong to my 
daughter ; they w’ere bought by you, and have 
never been seen by her ; and early this morning 
they w'ere returned to their possessor.” 

“ Pardon me,” rejoined Fritz, “ if I take your 
own w’ords as testimony against you ; the 
gloves W’ere yesterday, according to the custom 
of the country, sent as a present to Fraulein 
Laura; you yourself received it from the hands 
of the messenger, and, by your words, confirmed 
the acceptance of it. The gloves, therefore, by 
your own co-operation, have become the pro- 
perty of the Fraulein, and I have no claim to 
them.” 

“ No advocate could put the case in a better 
light,” replied Herr Hummel, with satisfaction. 
“ There is only one objection to it. These 
gloves wei’e not apparent; they were covered 
W’ith paper and flowers, like frogs in the grass. 
Had you come to me openly w ith your gloves, 
and a I’equest to be allowed to give them to my 
daughter, 1 should yesterday have told you what 
I now say, that I consider you a worthy young 
man, and that I have no objection to your 
standing every day as godfather, but 1 do very 
much object to your showing my daughter 
what are called in this countiy courtesies. I 
am not courteous to your family ; and therefore 
I cannot permit that you should be so to my 
people. For w'hat is right for one is fitting for 
the other.” 

“ I am again in the unfortunate predicament 
of conl'uting you by your own actions,” rejoined 
the Doctor. “You, yesterday, honoured me 
with a civility. As you have made me a present 
of a handkerchief, as a personal token ot your 
favour, to which, as I had not stood godl'atlier 
with you, I had no claim; 1 also may say, that 
what is right for one is fitting for tlie other. 
Therefore you cannot object to my sending these 
gloves to your house.” 

Hummel laughed. “ With all respect to you, 
Herr Doctor, you have forgotten that father and 
daughter are not quite the same thing. I have 
no objection that you should occasionally make 
me a present if you cannot resist the , inclination 
to do so, 1 will then consider what 1 can send 
you iu return; and if you think that these gloves 
will suit me, I will keep them as a token of re- 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


dQ 


conciliation between us ; and if ever we should 
stand together as godfathers, I will draw them 
over my thunibs, and show them to you.” 

“I have delivered them to you as the property 
of your daughter,” replied Fritz, with com- 
posure; “hov/ you may dispose of them I cannot 
decide. You know my wishes.” 

“ That is riglit, Herr Doctor,” assented Hum- 
mel ; “ the affair is settled to the satisfaction of 
all concerned, and there is an end of it.” 

Not quite yet,” replied the Doctor. What 
now comes is a demand I have upon you. Frau- 
lein Laura, as godmother with me, prepared and 
sent me a handkerchief. That handkerchief has 
not come into my hands, but I have undoubtedly 
the right to consider it as my property, and 1 
beg of you most humbly to send it to me.” 

“ Oho ! ” cried Hummel, the bear beginning to 
stir within him, “ that looks like defiance, and 
must be met with different language. With my 
good will you shall not receive the handkerchief; 
it has been given back to my daughter, and if 
she presents it to you she will act as a dis- 
obedient child, contrary to the commands of her 
father.” 

“ Then it is my intention to oblige you to re- 
cal this prohibition,” replied the Doctor, impres- 
sively. “ Yesterday I accidentally discovered 
that you exchanged the gloves I sent to Fraulein 
Laura, for others which must have excited in 
her the belief that I was an impertinent empty 
jester. By such deceitful and injurious treat- 
ment of a stranger, even though he were an ad- 
versary, you have acted as does not become an 
honourable man.” 

Hummel’s eyes widened, and he retreated 
some steps. 

“ Zounds ! ” he growled, is it possible ? Are 
you your father’s son. Are you Fritz Hahn, the 
young Humboldt ? So you, also, can be as rough 
as a brushmaker.” 

“ Only where it is necessary,” replied Fritz. 

“ In my conduct towards you I have never been 
deficient in delicacy of feeling; but you have 
treated me with injustice, and owe me some 
compensation. As an honourable man you will 
give me this, and my compensation will be the 
handkerchief.” 

“ Enough,” interrupted Hummel, raising his 
hand, “ it will all be of no avail. For, between 
ourselves, I will just tell you, I have nothing of 
what you call delicacy of feeling. If you feel 
yourself aggrieved by me, I should be at heart 
sorry, in so far as I see in you a young man of 
spirit, who can be rough. But when, on the 
other hand, I consider that you are Fritz Hahn, 

I come to the opinion that it is quite agreeable 
to me that you should feel aggrieved by me. 
With that you must be content.” 

“ What you say,” replied Fritz, “ is not only 
impolite, but unjust. I leave you, therefore, 
with the feeling that you owe me some repara- 
tion; and this feeling is, at all events, more 
agreeable to me than if I were in your po- 
sition.” 

“I see we understand each other in every- 
thing,” replied Hummel. ” We are two business 
people who both seek our own advantage. It is 
agreeable to you to feel that I have injured you, 
and to me that is a matter of indifference. So 
let it remain, Herr Doctor; we are at heart, and 


before all the world, enemies; but, for the rest, 
all respect to you.” 

The Doctor bowed and left the counter. Herr 
Hummel looked meditatingly on the spot where 
he had stood. 

He was during the whole day in a mild phi- 
lanthropic mood, which he at first showed by 
philosophising with his book-keeper. 

“ Have you ever reared bees ?” he asked him, 
over the counter. 

“ No, Herr Hummel,” replied he ; “ how could 
I manage it ?” 

“ You are deficient in the spirit of enterprise,” 
continued Hummel, reproachfully. “ Why should 
you not give yourself this pleasure ?” 

“ I live in a garret, Herr Hummel.” 

“ That’s not to the purpos<5. By the new in- 
ventions you can have the enjoyment of keeping 
bees in a tobacco chest. You put the swarm in, 
open the window, and from time to time cut 
your honey out. You might become a rich man 
by it. You will say that these insects might 
sting your fellow-inmates and neighbours; do 
not mind that; such views are old-fashioned. 
Follow the example of certain other people, who 
place their bee-hives close to the street in order 
to save themselves the expense of sugar.” 

The book-keeper wished to agree uith this 
proposition. 

“ If you mean ” he replied, humbly. 

“ The devil, I mean, sir ! ” broke forth Hum- 
mel ; “ do not think of coming with a swarm of 
bees in your pocket to my counter. I am deter- 
mined under no circumstances to suffer such a 
nuisance. In this street 1 am Hummel enough, 
and I object to all humming and swarming about 
my house and court-yard.” 

In the afternoon, when he was taking a walk 
in the garden with his wife and daughter, he 
suddenly stopped. 

“ What was it that flew through the air ?’* 

** It was a cockchafer,” said his wife. 

“ It was a bee,” said Herr Hummel. “ Are 
this rabble beginning to fly about. If there is 
anything I detest it is bees. Just so. There is 
another. They annoy you, Philippine.” 

“ I cannot say so,” she replied. 

A few minutes after, an undeniable bee flew 
about Laura’s curls, and she was obliged to 
protect herself with a parasol from the little 
M'orker, who mistook her cheeks for a peach. 

“ It is extraordinary,” said Hummel, to the 
ladies ; “ it seems to me that a hive of bees 
must have established itself in a hollow tree of 
the park. The park-keeper sleeps out there on 
a bench. You are on good terms with the man : 
draw his attention to it. The vermin are in- 
sufferable.” 

Frau Hummel consented to make inquiries, 
and the park-keeper promised to look to it. 
After a time he came to the hedge, and called 
out, in a low voice : 

“ Madame Hummel.” 

“ The man calls you,” said Hummel. 

“ They come from the garden of Herr Hahn,” 
reported the park-keeper, cautiously ; “ there is 
a beehive there.” 

“ Really,” asked Hummel, “ is it possible that 
Hahn should have chosen this amusement ?” 

Laura looked disquieted at her father. 

“ I am a peaceful man, keeper, and I cannot 


LITTLE CONTENTIONS. 


07 


believe my neighbour would do us such an 
injury.” 

“ It is certain, Herr Hummel,” said the park- 
keeper ; “ see, there is the yellow thing.” 

“ Truly so,” cried Hummel, shaking his head : 
“ ^tis yellow.” 

“ Leave it alone, Henry ; perhaps it will not 
be so bad,” said his wife, soothingly. 

Not so bad ?” asked Hummel, angrily. 
“ Shall I see the bees placing themselves on the 
point of your nose. Shall I suffer my wife to 
go the whole summer with her nose like a ball, 
or as large as an apple ? Prepare a room for 
the surgeon immediately ; during the next month 
he will never be out of our house.” 

Laura approached her father. 

“ I see you wish to begin a fresh quarrel with 
our neighbours : if you love me, do not do so. 
I cannot tell you, father, how much this quar- 
relling annoys me. I have suffered too much 
from it.” 

“ I believe you,” replied Hummel, cheerfully. 

But it is because I love you that I must in 
good time make an end of this annoyance from 
over there, before these winged nuisances carry 
away honey from our garden. I will have no 
attacks upon you from neighbouring bees; do 
you understand me ?” 

Laura turned and looked gloomily in the 
water, on which the fallen catkins of the birch 
were swimming slowly towards the toAvn. 

” Do something, keeper, to preserve peace be- 
tween neighbours,” continued Hummel. “ Take 
my compliments to Herr Hahn, and a request 
from me that he Avill remove his bees, that I 
may not be obliged to call in the police again.” 

“I will tell him, Herr Hummel, that the bees 
^are disagreeable to the neighbourhood; for it is 
true the gardens are small.” 

“ They are so narrow that one could sell them 
in a bandbox at the Christmas Eve market,” 
agreed Herr Hummel. “ Do it out of pity to 
the bees themselves. Our three narcissuses will 
not last them long as food, and afterwards there 
Avill be nothing for them but to gnaw the iron 
gutters.” 

He gave the park-keeper some groschen, and 
added, to his wife and daughter : 

“ You see how forbearing I am to our neigh- 
bour, for the sake of peace.” 

The ladies returned to the house, depressed 
and full of soiTowful forebodings. 

As the park-keeper did not appear again, 
Hummel watched for him on the following day. 

“ Now, how is it ?” he asked. 

“ Herr Hahn thinks that the hives are far 
from the street, behind a bush ; and they annoy 
no one. He will not give up his rights.” 

“ There it is ! ” broke out Hummel. “ You 
are my witness that I have done all in thepoAver 
of man to avoid a quarrel. That man has for- 
gotten that there is a paragraph 167. I am 
sorry, keeper ; but the police must be the last 
resort.” 

Herr Hummel conferred confidentially with a 
policeman. Herr Halm became excited and 
angri'y AA'hen he Avas ordered to appear at the 
Council-house, but Herr Hummel had in some 
measure the best of it, for the police advised 
Herr Halm to avoid annoyance to the neigh- 
bours and passers -bye by the removal of the 


hive. Herr Halm had taken great pleasure in 
his bees ; their dAA'elling had been arranged with 
all the ncAv inventions, and they Avere not like 
our angry German bees, but Italian, which only 
sting AA'hen irritated to the utmost. But this 
was all of no aA’ail, for even the Doctor and 
Frau Hahn begged that the hives might be 
removed ; so, on a dark night they were con- 
veyed by Herr Hahn, Avith bitter and depressed 
feelings, into the country. In the place Avhich 
they had occupied he ei’ccted some starlings’ 
nests on poles. They Avere a weak comfort. 
The starlings had, according to old customs, 
sent messengers of their race through the 
country and hired their summer dwelling, and 
only the sparrows took exulting possession of 
the abode, and left, like disorderly householders, 
long blades of straw hanging to their holes. 
Herr Hummel shrugged his shoulders contemp- 
tuously, and called the ncAv invention, in a loud 
bass voice, the sparrow telegraph. 

The garden amusements htui begun ; the sad 
prognostication had become a reality ; suspicion 
and gloomy looks divided once more the neigh- 
bouring houses. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Professor’s wife has much to bear Avith 
her husband. When Use found herself with 
her intimate friends, Rasclilce, Struvelius, and 
the little Gunther, over a cosy cup of coffee, 
that was by no means despised, this came clcai’ly 
to light. 

Nevertheless the talk floAA'cd on very agree- 
ably Avith these cultivated ladies. It first 
touched lightly on the subject of servants, and 
the troubles of housekeeping called forth a 
volubility of chatter, like frogs croaking in a 
pond, and Use wondered that even Flaminia 
Struvelius should express herself so earnestly on 
the subject of preserving little ghirkins, and 
that she should anxiously inquire as to the 
marks of age in a plucked goose. The merry 
Gunther made the ladies of greater experience 
raise their eyebroAvs and laugh, when she told 
them she could not bear the cry of little chil- 
dren, and that as to her oaati — of which she ha<.l 
none yet — she Avould break them in from the 
beginning to quiet habits. As has been said, 
the conversation rambled from greater matters 
to small talk like this. And amidst other 
trivial remarks it naturally happened that men 
of quiet manners Avere praised, on Avhicjh, al- 
though the remark was made as to men gene- 
rally, each thought of her oaa’u husband, and 
each, Avithout expressing it, thought of the 
secret load of cares she had to bear, and j jstified 
to her hearers the conclusion that these hus- 
bands AA'ere difficult to manage. The lot of 
Frau Raschke Avas not indeed to be concealed, 
as it was notorious throughout the toA\'n. It 
AA'as Avell knoAvn that one market-day he AA'ent 
to the lecture-room in a brilliant orange and 
blue dressing-goAvn, of a Turkish pattern. And 
the collegians, who loved him dearly and kncAv 
his habits aa^oII, could not suppress a loud laugh, 
AA’hilst Raschke hung his dressing-gown quietly 
over the reading-desk and began to lecture in 
his shirt sleeves, and returned home in the 


98 


THE LOST MAIHJSCRIPT. 


gTcat-coat of i student. Since then Frau 
Kaschke never let him go out without seeing 
after him herself. It also transpired that after 
living ten years in the town he constantly lost 
his way, and she did not dare to change her 
residence, being convinced that if she did, the 
Professor would he always going back to his 
old above. Struvelius also gave trouble. The 
last important one had come to Use’s personal 
knowledge ; hut it was also known that he re- 
quired his wife to correct the proof-sheets of 
his Latin M'ritings, as she had a slight know- 
ledge of this language, and he was quite unable 
to resist the invitations of his boon companions. 
Frau Struvelius had a well-stocked cellar of 
wine at her marriage, which was not yet quite 
exhausted, and he complained bitterly that he 
was never allowed a bottle. And even the 
little Gunther related that her husband could 
not tear himself away from working at night; 
and that on one occasion, poking about with a 
lamp amongst the books, he came too close to a 
curtain, which caught fire, and on pulling it 
down he burnt his hands, and rushed into the 
bedroom with his fingers black as coals, and 
more like Othello than a mineralogist. 

Use told nothing of her short career, but she 
also had gained some experiences. True, her 
husband was very good about working at night, 
was very discreet over his wine, though on 
great occasions he drank his glass bravely, as 
becomes a German Professor. But as to his 
eating, things went very badly. Certainly it 
does not do to care too much about food, espe- 
cially for a Professor, but not to be able to dis- 
tinguish a duck from a goose is dreary work 
for her who has striven to procure hirn a dainty. 
As for carving he was useless. The tough 
Stymphalian birds which Hercules destroyed, 
and tlie ungenial Phoenix, mentioned with such 
respect by his Tacitus, were much better known 
to him than the form of a turkey. Frau Use 
was not one of those women who deliglit to 
spend the whole day in the kitchen, but she 
understood cooking, and prided herself on 
giving a dinner worthy of her husband. But 
all was in vain. He tried sometimes to praise 
the disces, but Use cleaidy saw that his heart 
was not in it. Once when she set before him a 
splendid pheasant, he saw by her expression 
that she expected some remark, so he praised 
the cook for having bought such a fine chicken. 
Use sighed, and tried to make him understand 
the difference, but had to be content with Ga- 
briel’s sympathising remark, “It’s all useless. 
I know my master ; he can’t tell one thing 
from another !” Since then, Use was tin-own 
back on the compliments that the gentlemen 
paid her on her tea-table. But this was no 
compensation. The Doctor also was not re- 
markable for his acquirements in this direc- 
tion. It was lamentable and humiliating to 
see the two gentlemen over a couple of snipes 
which her father hud sent them. 

The Professor, however, looked up to the 
Doctor as a thoroughly practical man, because 
he had had some experience in buying and 
managing, and the former was accustomed to 
call in his friend as an adviser on many little 
daily occurrences The tailor brought his book 
of patterns for a new coat. The Professor looked 


aghast at the various colours of the pattern- 
book unrolled before him. “ Use, send for the 
Doctor to help me to choose ! ” Use sent, but 
against the grain ; no Doctor was needed, she 
thought, to choose a coat, and if her dear 
husband could not make up his mind, was not 
she there ? But as now it could not be helped, 
the Doctor selected the coat, waistcoat, &c. 
Use listened to the orders in silence, but she 
was really angry with the Doctor, and even a 
little with her‘loid. She quietly determined 
that things should not continue so. She made 
a calculation in her head of her pocket money, 
called the tailor into her room, and ordered a 
second suit for her husband, with the injunction 
to make this one first. When the tailor brought 
the clothes home, she asked her husband how 
he liked the new suit. lie praised it. Then 
she said : “ To please you I make myself as 
nice-looking as I can : do once for my sake 
wear what I h-ave had made for you. As I have 
succeeded this time, in future I may choose and 
be responsible for your wardrobe.” 

But the Doctor looked quite amazed when he 
met the Professor in a different suit. It so 
happened, however, that he had nothing to find 
fault with; and when Use was sitting alone 
with the Doctor, she began — 

“ Both of us love my husband, and wish to be 
united about him. You have the greatest right 
to be the confidant of his labours, and I should 
never venture to place myself on an equality 
with you respeeting them. But in household 
affairs I may at least be useful to him, and 
what little I can, dear Doctor, pray allow me 
to do.” 

She said this with a smile ; but the Doctor 
walked gravely up to her. 

“ You are expressing what I have long felt. 

I have lived with him for many years, and have 
often lived for him, and th-at was a time of real 
happiness to me ; but I now feel perfectly well 
that it is you who have the best claim on him. 

I will make it my endeavour to control myself 
in many things ; it will be hard for me, but it 
is better it should be so.” 

“ My words were not so intended,” said Use, 
disturbed. 

“ I know perfectly what you meant ; and I 
know also that you are quite right. Your task 
is not alone to make his life comfortable. I see 
how earnestly you strive to become his confidant. 
Believe me, the warmest wish of my heart is 
that in time you should succeed.” 

He left with an earnest farewell, and Use 
saw how deeply moved he was. The Doctor 
had touched a chord, the vibration of which, 
midst all her happiness, she felt with pain. Her 
household affairs gave her little trouble, and all 
went so smoothly that she took no credit to her- 
self for her management. But still it pained 
her to see how little she could do for her hus- 
band, and she thought to herself, “ "Wliat I am 
able to do for him makes no impression on him, 
and when I cannot elevate my mind to his, ho 
probably feels the want of a soul that can 
understand him better.” 

These were transient clouds which swept over 
the sunny landscape, but they came again and 
again as Use sat brooding alone in her room. 

One evening. Professor Ilaschke having looked 


LITTLE CONTENTIONS. 


lu late, showed himself disposed to pass the even- 
ing with them, and Felix sent the servant to 
the Professor’s wife, to set her mind at rest as 
to the absence of her husband. As Easelike, 
amongst all the learned men, was Use’s favourite, 
she took^ pains to order something that would 
please him. This order condemned to death 
some chickens that just before were running 
about. The gentlemen were sitting in Use’s 
room when a fearful scream issued from the 
kitchen, and the cook, pale as death, burst open 
. the door and appealed to her mistress. It 
appeared that the girl’s heart failed her in 
attempting to kill the fowls, and as Gabriel, 
who had hitherto performed all such necessary 
slaughter, was absent, she did not know what to 
do, so Use herself had to perform the indis- 
pensable act. When she returned, Felix un- 
fortunately asked why she had left the room, 
and Use told him what had occurred. 

The chickens came to table and did the cook 
no discredit. Use carved and helped them, 
but her husband pushed back his plate, whilst 
Itaschke, out of politeness, picked at the breast, 
but forbore to eat a morsel. Use regarded the 
two gentlemen with'astoni-hment. 

“ You do not eat anything. Professor ? ” she 
at last said, to her guest, anxiously. 

“ It is only an attack of nerves,” replied 
Raschke, “ and it’s very foolish, but the screams 
of the poor bird are still in my ear.” 

And in yours, too, Felix ? ” asked Use, with 
increasing excitement. 

“Yes,” rejoined he. “Is it not possible to 
get these things done quietly ? ” 

“ Not always,” answered Use, mortified, 
“when the house is so small, and the kitchen 
so near.” She rang and ordered the unlucky 
dish to be taken away. “ Those who can’t bear 
things to be killed should eat no meat,” 

“ You are quite right,” replied Raschke, sub- 
missively, “ and our sensitiveness has but little 
\ justification. We find the preparations un- 
pleasant, and yet in general are well satisfied 
with the result. But whoever is accustomed to 
observe animal life with sympathy, is necessarily 
shocked at the sudden termination of an 
V , organism for his own selfish pui’poses, when, it 
” is done in a way to which he is not accustomed. 

For tlie whole life of an animal is full of 
I mystery to us. The same vital power which 
we observe in ourselves, is fundaiiientally at 
work with them, only limited by a less com- 
[!fv, plicated, and, on the whole, less complete, or- 
ganisation.” 

“ Ilow can you compare their souls with that 
li'.' of man’s ? ” asked Use ; “ the irrational with 
the rational : the transitory with the eteimal ? ” 
“ As to irrational, my dear lady, it is a mere 
W'ord to which in this case one does not attach 
a very clear meaning. What the difference may 
be between man and beast is difficult to decide, 
and on this subject a little modesty becomes us. 
^ We know but little of animals, even of those 
V who pass their lives with us. And I confess 
f;/' that the attempt to fathom this unknown pro- 
L blem fills me with awe atid reverence, which 
occasionally rises into fear. I cannot bear that 
any one who belongs to me should grow fond of 
an animal. This arises from a weakness of feel- 
ing which I own is pedantic. But the influence 

LofC. 


99 

of the human mind on animals is to me full of 
mystery and inexplicable; phases of their life 
are developed, which in certain directions make 
them very similar to man. Their affectionate 
devotion to us has something so touching in it, 
that we are disposed to bestow much more love 
on them than is good either for them or us.” 

“Still an animal remains what it was from the 
creation,” said Use; “unchanged in its habits 
and inclinations. We can train a bird, and 
make a dog fetch and carry what he would 
rather eat, but that is only compulsory teaching. 
If left to themselves, their nature and manners 
remain unaltered, and they are deficient in what 
we call cultivation.” 

“ Even there we are not quite sure,” rejoined 
Raschke. “ We do not know wffiether each race 
of animals has not a history and culture, which 
extends from one generation to another. It is 
not at all impossible that acquirements and 
knowledge of the world, so far as they may exist 
in animals, may prevail among them, though in 
a narrow sphere, just as with men. It is quite 
an assumption that birds sang just the same 
way a thousand years ago as they do now. And 
I am of opinion that the wolf and the fox stand 
on the same footing in point of civilisation as 
the remnants of the red Indians among the 
whites; w'hilst those animals that live in con- 
stant peace with man, like sparrows and other 
small creatures, and bees especially, improve in 
their mode of work, and in the course of time 
make progress, progress which we in some cases 
try to imitate, but are never able to achieve.” 

“ Our head forester would quite agree with 
this,” said Use, quietly ; “ as he complains 
bitterly that the bullfinches of oui neighbour- 
hood within his memory have quite gone off in 
their singing, because all the good singers have 
been caught, and the young birds have no one to 
teach them.” 

“Just so,” cried Raschke; “and as we see 
amongst animals of every kind there are clever 
and stupid ones, it follows that in some of them 
a sort of mental activity is going on which lasts 
through their whole life. And the experience of 
an old rover, or the enchanting notes of a melo- 
dious nightingale, are not lost on future genera- 
tions, but influence them continuously. In this 
sense we may well speak of cultivation and im- 
provement amongst animals. But with respect 
to the cook, I admit that we exhibited our sym- 
pathies at the wrong time and place, and 1 hope 
you are not angry with us, dear friend,” 

“ It shall be all forgotten now,” replied Use ; 
“ but next time I will give you boiled eggs, 
which will cause no reflections.” 

“ An egg is something special,” answered 
Rischke ; “ but there, also, 1 should desire to 
make a closer investigation. But vvhat has 
brought me here,” addressing Felix, earnestly, 
“ was neither fowls nor eggs, but our colleague, 
Struvelius. I am seeking forgiveness for him.” 

Felix drew himself up stiffiy. “ Has he com- 
missioned you to come f” 

“ Not exactly; but it is the wish of some of our 
colleagues. You know that next year we reqiiire 
an energetic Rector. Some of our acquaintance 
are speaking of you. Struvelius will probably 
be Deacon, and for this reason w e wi&h to bring 
you into friendly relations; and still more for 


I 


IOC 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


the sate of the University. It will be sad to see 
our antiquarian sciences all out of joint.” 

“ What the man has done to me,” replied the 
Professor, proudly, “I can easily forgive. Al- 
though his mean and underhand conduct is 
repugnant to me, I feel much more the effect of 
his mad work udth I’espect to himself and our 
University. But what separates me from him 
is the dishonourable feeling he has shown.” 

“ The expression is too strong,” said Raschke. 

“ It exactly corresponds with his act,” replied 
the Professor. “ When the forgery was pointed 
out to him, his fear of humiliation was greater 
than his love of truth, and he told lies in order 
to deceive others — conduct unworthy of a Ger- 
man professor, and I can never forgive it.” 

“ You are again too hard,” replied Raschke ; 
“he has frankly and loyally admitted his error.” 

“ He only did so when Magister Knips and 
others proved clearly the forgery that had been 
committed in the manuscript, and so made any 
further evasion impossible.” 

“ Human feelings are not so easy to analyse 
as numbers are,” rejoined Rasclike ; “ and he 
who judges charitably, judges rightly. He 
struggled with wounded pride perhaps too long, 
but he gave in at last.” 

“ I do not expect in the morality of a man of 
learning any extraordinary elevation, but here 
it was a simple qxiestion : Black or white ? 
Truth or falsehood ?” 

“ You have, nevertheless,” said Use, “ shown 
much greater consideration for the Magister, 
and I have seen him with you since, more than 
once.” 

“ The Magister was not to blame in the mat- 
ter,” her husband replied. “ When the question 
was clearly before him, he employed his acute- 
ness to some purpose.” 

“ He took money for it,^’ said Use. 

“ He is a poor devil, accustomed as a broker 
to take his profits on antiquities, and no one 
M’^ould expect in a transaction that he should act 
like a gentleman. So far as his cramped soul 
belongs to learning, it is not without a sort of 
manly pride ; and I have the warmest sympathy 
for a nature of that kind. For his life on the 
whole is a continual martyrdom for the good of 
others ; and when I employ such a man, I know 
exactly how far to trust him.” 

“ May you not sometimes be taken in ?” 
asked Raschke. 

“ I take on myself the risk and the responsi- 
bility,” replied the Professor. “ But have done 
with the Magister — it is not he who is in ques- 
tion. If I compare his error with that of 
Struvelius, I have no doubt who has shown the 
greatest deficiency of honourable feeling.” 

“This again is so unjust,” cried Raschke, 
“ that I cannot listen to such expressions con- 
cerning an absent colleague. It is with deep 
regret that I miss in you all that calm judgment 
which I have always found in you in other cases, 
and especially in judging one of our brother 
professors.” 

“ You yourself told me,” replied Felix, quietly, 
“ that he promised silence to the trader, because 
he had given him a prospect of other secret 
parchments. How can you, after such an exhi- 
bition of selfishness, find a word to say in his 
excuse ?” 


“ It is true he did so,” replied Raschke, “ aud 
here was his weakness ?” 

“ There was his dishonesty,” cried the Pro- 
fessor, “and that 1 cannot get over. Whoever 
thinks otherwise may shake hands with him.” 

Puischkc rose. “ If your words mean that 
whoever has got a blunter moral sense may take 
Struvelius by the hand, I reply to you that I 
am the man, and that this act of mine has never 
humiliated me in my own eyes. I entertain the 
highest respect for your manly and pure feelings, 
which I have often taken as an example ; but I 
must tell you now, that I am not satisfied with 
you. If this hardness has come over you be- 
cause Struvelius has offended you personally, 
you are merely using the measure which we 
judge others by, and not ourselves.” 

“ You go far beyond the measure,” exclaimed 
the Professor. “ I know of no precise measure 
which I apply to the claims of right and wrong. 
It is by no means a matter of indifference to me 
to have you as an opponent on this occasion ; 
but such as I am, an erring and imperfect mor- 
tal, I cannot put up with such demands upon 
me from my intimates ! ” 

“ I shall hope, then,” broke off Raschke, 
" that it will never be your lot to be obliged to 
make confessions to others ; you may be taken 
in by a cheat, just where you feel yourself most 
strong; for he who judges others so proudly is 
just the one to feel with the greatest bitterness 
the necessity of acknowledging his own short- 
sightedness.” 

“ Yes, that would be dreadful for me,” said 
Felix, “ to lead others into error and falsehood 
against my will. But trust me, I would use all 
my life and strength to atone for such wrong. 
In the meanwhile, between that man and me 
the gulf is as dark as ever.” 

Raschke put back his chair, “I must go, 
then, for our discussion has so excited me that I 
shall make a very bad guest. It is the first 
time, my dear lady, that I have ever left this 
house with any unpleasant feeling; and it is 
not my least annoyance, that my untimely 
advocacy of the existence of souls in poultry 
made me bristle up my crest against you also.” 

Use regarded with pain the excited coun- 
tenance of the worthy man, and, in order to 
soothe him and restore the old friendly relations, 
she said to him, coaxingly ; “ But the poor 
chicken is not lost, you must still eat it, aud I 
will take care that your wife shall give it you 
to-morrow morning for breakfast.” 

Raschke squeezed her hand, and rushed out 
of the door. The Professor walked up and dowm 
the room in agitation, and then rushed up to 
his wife and said, abruptly, “ Was I in the 
wrong ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Use, hesitating ; 
“but when our friend spoke to you all my 
feelings went with him, and I felt that he was 
right.” 

“ You, too ! ” said the Professor, moodily. He 
turned on his heel and went to his study. 

Use sat once more alone with a heavy heart, 
and she murmured, “ In many things he looks 
on life with a veiy different eye to mine. To- 
wards animals he is softer, and to men, some- 
times, harder than I am. Strive as I may, I 
am nothing to him but an unsuitable country 


LITTLE CONTENTIOXS. 


101 


lass. He is very kind to Frau Hollmaus, and is 
so to me; but he is always obliged to make 
allowances for me.” 

She sprung from her chair with a burning 
face. 

In the meantime Raschke went into the ante- 
room; there also disorder prevailed. Gabriel 
had not returned from his distant errand, and 
the cook had put all the dinner things on a 
table till his return, so Riischke had to look for 
his own grcut-coat. He groped among the 
coats, and seized on one, and on a hat. As to- 
day he was not in his usual absent state, a 
glance at the despised fowl suggested the idea of 
taking it to eat at a proper time. He therefore 
seized a newspaper which Gabriel had carefully 
laid out for his master, took the chicken from the 
dish, wrapped it up in the paper, and deposited 
it in his pocket, the depth and capacity of 
which agreeably surprised him. Rushing past 
the astonished cook he left the house. On 
opening the front door he stumbled over some- 
thing on the threshold, and heard a fearful 
growl behind him as he hurried down the steps 
into the open air.” 

The words of the friend he had left still rung 
in his ear. Werner’s whole bearing was very 
characteristic, and his nature was a strong one. 
Strange, that in a fit of passion his face assumed 
the exact expression of a dog. Here the philo- 
sopher’s chain of ideas had been broken in upon 
by his sudden recollection of the talk about ani- 
mals’ souls. 

“ It is much to be deplored that it is still so 
difficult to assert anything precisely with respect 
to the souls of animals. If we succeeded in that, 
it would be a greiit gain to science. Whoever 
should succeed in comparing the expression and 
action of the passions in man and in the higher 
animals in their individual detail, might come to 
sound conclusions, both where they differ and 
where they agree. By this, perhaps, the mean- 
ing of their dramatic action, and some such laws, 
might be discovered.” 

Whilst the philosopher was thus meditating, 
he felt repeated tugs at his great-coat. As his 
wife was accustomed, when he was wrapt in 
thought, to jog him gently if he met any friend, 
he paid no attention, but took off his hat politely 
to the post on the bridge, and said, “ Good even- 

“ The common character and origin of mimi 
cal expression in man and the higher animals 
might, perhaps, if fully known, give us glimpses 
into the great secret of life.” Again something 
pulled him. Raschke mechanically lifted his hat. 
Another jerk. “ I think, dear Amelia, I did take 
my hat off.” It then occurred to him that it 
could not be his wife who was pulling so low 
down at his coat. It must be his little daughter 
Bertha, who occasionally walked with him, and, 
just like her nmther, used gently to jog him 
when he had to bow to any one. “ Very good, 
dear child,” said he, as Bertha kept continually 
pulling at his hind coat pocket, and he put his 
. hand behind him to catch the little teazer. He 
caught hold of something round and hairy, and 
at once felt some sharp teeth in his fingers, 
which made him turn round with a start. He 
then saw, by the lamplight, a reddish, glittering 
monster, with a great head and bristling hair. 


and a tuft instead of a tail. It was an awful 
transformation of wife and daughter, and he 
stared with amazement at this mysterious being, 
that stood opposite to him, and likewise ‘regard- 
ing him in silence. 

“ A remarkable occurrence,” cried Raschke. 
“ What are you, unknown beast ? Probably a 
dog — get away with you ! ” The auimal slunk 
back some paces, and Raschke pursued his in- 
quiry. “If one could refer the expression of 
countenance, and the gesture under emotion, to 
fixed principles, we should arrive at one of the 
most active laws which governs action, and 
should be able to eliminate all that is foreign. 
It would be then instructive to distinguish in 
the spontaneous movements of men and animals, 
what was natural to each and what conventional. 
Get off, dog — be good enough to go home. 
What does he want wth me ? He evidently 
belongs to Wernei‘’s kingdom. The poor animal 
has run into the streets under the guidance of a 
fixed idea ! ” 

In the meantime, Speihahn’s attacks became 
more violent, and at last he raised himself on his 
hind legs, in a wholly unnatural and quite con- 
ventional attitude, and placing his fore feet on 
the Professor’s back, he buried his nose in the 
coat pocket. 

A shoemaker, standing by, slapped his leathei 
apron, and cried, “Ain’t you ashamed. Doctor, 
to let your poor pupils ride on your bjick ?” 
And, truth to say, the hound, behind the man, 
looked just like a dwarf pushing a giant down a 
slide. 

Raschke’s interest in the thoughts of the dog 
increased. He stood by a lamp, and examined 
his great-coat carefully. He found that it pos- 
sessed the adA’’antage of a capo and long sleeves, 
which the philosopher had never observed before 
in his own coat. Tlic matter was now clear : 
he himself had thoughtlessly takeu the wrong 
coat, and the honest dog meant to preserve his 
master’s wardrobe, and to make the thief restore 
it. Raschke was so pleased with the dog’s clever- 
ness, that he turned round and spoke coaxingly 
to Speihahu, and tried to stroke his rough coat. 
The dog again snapped at his hand. “ You are 
quite right,” 8.aid Raschke, “in being angry 
with me. I will show you that I know I am in 
the wrong.” So he took the coat off, and hung 
it over his arm. “ It is, indeed, much heavier 
than my own.” He marched briskly on in his 
light frock coat, and saw with satisfaction that 
the dog made no more attacks on his skirts. On 
the other hand, Speihahn seized the great-coat, 
and began biting at it, and at the Professor’s 
hands, and growling furiously. 

The Professor got angry with the dog, and as 
he came to a bench in the Promenade, he laid 
the coat down on it, in order to deal with the 
animal in earnest, and drive him home. By this 
means he got quit of the dog and of the coat also ; 
for Speihahn, jumping up eagerly on the bench, 
seized hold of the coat, and kept the Professor 
at bay, who tried to drive him off. “ It is 
Werner’s coat,” said the Professor, “ and it is 
Werner’s dog, and it would be unjustifiable to 
beat the poor animal because in his fidelity he 
has become excited, and it would be also wrong to 
leave both dog and coat.” So he remained with 
the dog, try ing to coax him ; the animal, how- 


102 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


ever, took no further notice of the Professor ; on 
the contrary, he devoted himself to the coat, 
which he turned over and over again, s« raping 
and gnawing at it. Raschke perceived that 
the coat would not long stand such treatment. 
“ The dog must be mad," he said, to himself, 
doubtingly, “and I must, after all, exert some 
violence towards the poor creature and he 
considered whether it wer.e better to jump up on 
the bench and drive the mad dog off with a 
good kick, or to make the unavoidable attack 
from below. He decided on the latter, and 
searched about for a stone or stick to arm him- 
self for the encounter. He then looked up at 
the trees and the dark sky, and could not in the 
least tell where he was. “ Is this witchcraft ?” 
he said, to himself, with a shudder. “ Pray tell 
me," addressing a solitary passer-by, “ in what 
part of the town ue are ; and will you have 
the goodness to lend me your stick for a 
moment ?" 

“ These are sti*ange questions," replied the 
stranger, in a surly tone. “ I want my stick 
myself at this time of night. And who are you, 
sir, I should like to know ?" And he came up 
muttering to the Professor. 

“ I am a quiet man," replied the Professor, 
“ and little inclined to violent courses. But a 
struggle has commenced between that dog on 
the bench and me about a great-coat, and I 
should be extremely obliged to you if you 
would rescue the coat from the dog. But pray 
do no more harm to him than is absolutely 
necessary." 

“ Is it your coat ?" asked the man. 

“ Unfortunately, I cannot say it is," replied 
Raschke, conscientiously. 

“ There is something wrong here," cried the 
stranger, looking again with suspicion at the 
Professor. 

“ Something, indeed,” replied Raschke ; “ the 
dog is mad, the coat has been changed, and I 
don’t know where we are." 

“ Close to the Valley Gate, Herr Professor 
Raschke," answered Gabriel, who hastily joined 
the group. “ But, pardon me, how came you 
here ?" 

“ That’s good,” cried Raschke, delighted ; 
“just hold that dog, and get the great-coat 
for me." 

Gabriel saw with astonishment his friend 
Speihahn, who was now sitting on the coat with 
his head turned towards his friend. Gabriel 
drove the dog off, and seized the coat from him. 
“ It is my own over-coat ! " he said. 

“ Yes, Gabriel," rejoined the Professor, “ that 
was my mistake, and the dog has displayed a 
wonderful fidelity in guarding it." 

“ Fidelity ! ” said Gabriel, quite out of sorts, 
as he pulled a parcel out of the pocket ; “ it was 
greedy selfishness. There must be something 
savoury here." 

“ Ah ! I recollect now," cried Raschke ; “ it 
is the fowl that’s to blame. Give me the parcel, 
Gabrieli I must eat it myself. And we may 
now wish one another good-night in peace, un- 
less you will go with me a little way to show me 
the road amongst these trees." 

“ But 3'ou can’t go in this night air without 
ft great-coat,” said the tender-hearted Gabriel. 
“ Wc are not far from our house, and it would 


be better for you to rcLiQ’ii with me to the Pro- 
fessor’s." 

Raschke paused awhile, and laughed. “ You 
are quite right, my good Gabriel : my sudden 
outbreak was all wrong, and the soul of an 
animal has this day given a lesson to a human 
soul.” 

“ If you mean this dog," replied Gabriel, “ it 
is the first time in his life he has given anybody 
a lesson. I suppose that he followed you from 
our door, for I put bones for him there of an 
evening." 

“ At one time I thought he was quite mad," 
said the Professor. 

“ He is a sly one when he chooses," replied 
Gabriel, with an air of mystery ; “ but if I were 
to tell all my experiences with him to this 
day " 

“ Tell me, Gabriel," cried the Professor, quite 
excited. “ Nothing is so valuable with respect 
to animals as authentic anecdotes, collected by 
those who have obseiwed them closely." 

“ I can vouch for myself," said Gabriel, with 
an air of confidence ; “ and if you really wish to 
know what he is, I can assure you he is be- 
witched — he is a devil — he has been poisoned — 
and has a gnidge against the whole human 
race ! " 

“ Hum ! — is that so ?" whispered the philo- 
sopher. “ I see it is much easier to look into 
the heart of a Professor than that of a dog." 

Speihahn crept along quietly and depressed, 
with his tail between his legs, listening to the 
praise bestowed on him, whilst Raschke, accom- 
panied by Gabriel, returned through the park to 
the house. Gabriel fiung open the pai’lour door, 
and announced “ Professor Raschke," 

Use stretched out both hands. Welcome — 
welcome, dear Professor ! " and led him into her 
husband’s study. 

“ Here I am again,” said Raschke, in a cheer- 
ful tone, “ after an adventure like a fairy tale. 
I have been brought back by two animals who 
have shown me the right path — a roast fowl and 
a poisoned dog." 

Felix jumped up, the two friends shook hands 
cordially, and, after all this confusion, the even- 
ing passed ofi‘ most pleasantly. 

When Raschke at length withdrew, Gabriel 
said, sorrowfully, to his mistress : “ It was the 
new coat ; the fowl and the dog have done for it 
between them. It is a sad pity.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

It was the first burst of spring in the wood 
and gardens adjoining the city. The buds and 
caterpillars had slumbered together in quiet 
winter dreams; now the leaves expanded, and 
the grubs crawled over the young green shoots. 
Under the bright rays of the sun as it ran its 
course the struggle of life began,— the blooming 
and withering, the rich colours, and the frost 
under which they ^vere to fade, the bright green 
and the caterpillars that gnawed it ; the ancient 
strife arose in buds and blossoms as in the heai't 
of man. 

Use, in her hours of instruction, Avas now 
reading Herodotus, the spring messenger of the 


THE ILLNESS. 


103 


Innii.an race ; hovering on the borders betwixt 
dreamy poetry and clear reality, the glad pro- 
claimer of a time in which the people of the 
earth rejoiced in their own beautiful concep- 
tions, and began to seek truth in earnest. Again 
Use read the pages with passionate excitement, 
which brought a shattered world before her eyes 
with such vivid reality. But there was not the 
same serene and exalted pleasure in the narrative 
as in the works of the great poet, the fate and 
deeds of whose heroes so influenced her mind as 
to produce a pleasing impression on her spirit 
even while they excited sorrow and horror. For 
it is the privilege of human invention to form 
the world as the weak heart of man desires it ; 
W’ith alternations and fitting proportions of hap- 
piness and sorrow, the recognition of each in- 
dividual according to his pow’ers and actions, 
and due compensation. But the mind which 
here I’uled the vanished life was a superhnman 
power; the fulness of life pressed on: one devas- 
tated the other, destruction mercilessly broke in, 
overtaking good and bad alike; there was com- 
pensation, there was also a curse, but they struck 
incomprehensibly, cruelly, and heart-breakingly. 
What was good ceased to be good, and evil 
gained the victory. What was first a blessing 
became afterwards ruin; what was now benefi- 
cent greatness and dominion, became afterw'ards 
a disease, which destroyed the state. The in- 
dividual hei’oes were of little importance ; if a 
great human power rose and dominated for a 
moment. Use saw it soon disappear in the whirl- 
ing stream of events. Croesus, the over-confi- 
dent, good-hearted king, fell, the powerful Cyrus 
passed away, and Xerxes was beaten. But na- 
tions also sank, the great marvels of Egypt 
withered, the golden realm of Lydia was shat- 
tered, and mighty Persia first corrupted others 
and then itself. In the young Hellenic people, 
that rose with such heroic strength, she already 
saw busily at work violence, evil deeds, and en- 
mities, through which the most beautiful picture 
of antiquity, after short prosperity, was to pass 
away. 

Use and Laura wore sitting opposite one 
another, with an open book lying between them. 
Laura, indeed, was not admitted to the private 
instructions of the Professor, but her soul ac- 
companied Use faithfully on the hunting path of 
learning. Use imparted to her the acquisitions 
of her hours of instruction, and enjoyed the 
sweet pleasure of infusing new ideas into the 
mind of her friend. 

“I felt great indignation at this Xerxes,” 
cried Laura, “ even from what I read in the 
primer; the Persian Xerxes was a great rich 
king, Xantippe was a woman, both were good 
for nothing. I long thought that Xantippe had 
been his wife, and I would have let him have her. 
On the other hand, look at the three hundred Spar- 
tans who sent him home and encircled themselves 
with wreaths, anointed themselves, and put on 
their festive dress to go to death. That elevates 
the heart; they were men. If I could show my 
veneration for their memory by means of my 
stupid head and weak hands, I would work for 
it till my fingers ached. But what can a poor 
creature like me do ? At the utmost, embroider 
travelling bags for their journey to the lower 
world, and these would come two thousand years ] 


too late. ^S’’e women are pitiable creatures,” she 
exclaimed, with vexation. 

“ There were others in the battle,” said Use, 
“ who were more touching to me than the three 
hundred Spartans. These were the Thespians, 
who fought and died with them. The Spartans 
were impelled by their proud hearts and the 
strict discipline and commands of their rulers. 
But the Thespians died willingly They were a 
small people, and they knew well that the 
greatest honour would attach to their distin- 
guished neighbours. But they stood true in 
their humble feelings, and that was far more 
self-sacrificing and noble. Ah ! it was easy to 
all of them,” she continued, son-owfully ; “ but 
for those who remain behind, their poor parents, 
wives, and children at home, what destruction of 
happiness and unspeakable lamentation ! ” 

“ Lamentation !” cried Laura ; “ if they thought 
as I do they would be proud of the death of their 
loved ones, and wear, like them, garlands in their 
sorrow. What is the pui-pose of our life if we 
are not to rejoice in giving ourselves up for 
higher things ?” 

“For higher things?” asked Use. “What 
men value higher than wives and children, is 
that higher for us also ? Our office is to devote 
our whole hearts to them, the children, and 
home. When, therefore, they are taken from 
us it is the desolation of our whole life, and 
nothing remains but endless grief. It is natural 
for us to view their vocation differently than 
they do themselves.” 

“ I would like to be a man,” cried Laura. 
“ Are we then so weak in mind and spirit, that 
we must have less enthusiasm, feeling of 
honour, and love for our Fatherland than they ? 
It is a fearful thought to be one’s whole life 
only the waiting-maid of a ruler who is stronger 
or better than oneself; and to wear gummy 
shoes, that one’s feet may not get wet, and a 
woollen shawl the moment a breath of cold air 
blows.” 

“ Yet w’e all wear these things,” replied Use, 
laughing. 

“ The greater part do,” said Laura, evasively; 
“ but believe me, Frau Use, these menfolk have 
no right to expect us to devote our whole heart 
and lives to them. It is just the most clever of 
them that do not give us their full heart. And 
how should they ? We are good enough to 
entertain them, and darn their stockings, and 
perhaps become their confidantes, if they should 
accidentally be at a loss what to do; but the 
best of them look beyond us to mankind as a 
whole, and in that is their special life. What 
is right for them should also be fitting for us.” 

“ And have we not enough in what they 
give us of their life ? ” asked Use. “ If it is 
only a portion it makes us happy.” 

“ Is it a happiness to be devoid of the highest 
feelings ? ” exclaimed Laura. “ Can we die like 
Leonidas ?” 

Use pointed to the door of her husband’s 
room. “ My Hellas sits within there, and 
works, and my heart beats when I hear his step, 
or only the scratching of his pen. To live or 
die for the man one loves is also an elevating 
idea, and makes one happy. Ah, only happy if 
one knows that one is a source of happiness to 
him.” 


THE LOST MANUSCHIPT, 


toi. 


Laura threw herself at the feet of her friend, 
and looked ooaxiuj^ly into her anxious face. “ 1 
have made you serious with my prattling, and 
that was wrong of me ; for I would gladly con- 
jure a smile every hour to your lips, and always 
see a friendly light in those soft eyes. Have 
patience with me; I am a strange fantastic 
creature, and often discontented with myself and 
others, and frequently without knowing why. 
But Xerxes is good for nothing, to that I stick ; 
and if I had him here I would box his ears every 
day.” 

He was at all events requited,” replied Use. 

Laura jumped up again. “ Was that a 
proper retribution for the villain who had des- 
troyed or made miserable hundreds of thousands, 
to return home with a whole skin ? No punish- 
ment would be severe enough for such a wicked 
king. But I know right well how he became 
so ; he was the spoilt son of his mother ; he had 
always lived in the parental house ; had grown 
up in luxury, and all men were subject to him. 
Therefore he treated all with contempt. It 
would be the same \\'ith others if they ^^'ere in 
the same position. I can well imagine myself 
such a monster, and many of my acquaintances 
also.” 

“ My husband ?” asked Use. 

“ No, he is more like Cyrus or Camhyses,” 
replied Laura. 

Use laughed. “ That is not true. But what 
would be the case with the Doctor over there ?” 

Laura raised her hand threateningly at her 
neighbour. “ He would be Xerxes, just as he is 
in the book, if one could think of him without 
spectacles, in a golden night-dress, with a sceptre 
in his hand, without his good heart (for Fritz 
Hahn undoubtedly has that); somewhat less 
clever than he is, and still more spoilt, as a man 
also who has M'ritten no book, and learnt no- 
thing but to treat others badly ; thus he would 
be quite Xerxes. I see him sitting before me 
on a throne, by a brook, striking the water with 
a whip because it made his boots wet. As such 
he would have been very dangerous if he had 
not been born here close to the city park.” 

“ I think so also,” replied Use. In the even- 
ing, in the course of her hour of study. Use said 
to her husband : “ When Leonidas died with his 
heroes, he saved his countrymen from the rule 
of foreign barbarians ; but after him many thou- 
sands of these glorious men fell in the civil wars 
of the cities. In these quarrels the people be- 
came deteriorated, and before long other strangers 
came and deprived their descendants of their 
freedom. For what end did these many thou- 
sands die ? — of what use was all the hatred, and 
enthusiasm, and party zeal ? — it was all vain, 
and a token of decay. Man is here like a grain 
of sand that is trodden down into the earth. I 
find myself in face of a terrible riddle, and life 
is fearful to me.” 

“ I will endeavour to give you a solution,” re- 
plied her husband, seriously; “ but the words 
which I am now about to speak to you are like 
the key to the chambers of the wicked Blue 
Beard : do not open every room too hastily, for 
in some of them you will discover what, in 
your present frame of mind, may raise fresh 
doubts.’^ 

“ I am your wife,” cried Ilse, ** and if you 


have an answer for the questions which torment 
me, I demand it of you.” 

“ My answer is no secret to you,” said the 
Professor. You are not only what you con- 
sider yourself — a human being born to joy and 
sorrow, united to individuals by nature, love, 
and faith — but you are bound body and soul to 
an earthly power, of which you think but little, 
but which, nevertheless, guides you from the 
first breath you drew to the last gasp of life. 
When I tell you that you are a child of your 
people, and a child of the hitman race, the ex- 
pression will come so naturally to you that you 
will not assign to it any high signification. Yet 
this is your highest earthly relation. We are 
too much accustomed from our childhood to 
cherish in our hearts only the individuals to 
whom we are bound by nature or choice, and 
we seldom think that our nation is the ancestor 
from whom our parents originated; that has 
produced our language, laws, manners, and ac- 
quisitions, everything that composes our life, 
and almost all that determines our fates, and 
elevates our hearts. But indeed it is not our 
nation alone, for all the people of the earth are 
in the relation of brothers and sisters, and one 
nation helps to decide the life and fate of others. 
All have lived, suffered, and u'orked together, 
in order that you may live, enjoy yourself, and 
do your part in life.” 

Ilse laughed. “ 'What the bad king Cambyses, 
and his Persians also ? ” 

“ They also,” replied the Professor ; for the 
great net of which your life is one of the meshes 
is woven together from an endless number of 
threads, and if one fails the web is imperfect. 
Apply this first to little things. You have to 
thank the inventions of a period (of which every 
record is now wanting) for the table by which 
you sit, the needle which you hold in your hand, 
and the rings on your fingers and in your ears ; 
the shuttle was invented by an unknown people 
in order that your dress might be woven, and 
a similar palm-leaf pattern to that which you 
wear was devised in the manufactory of a 
Phoenician.” 

Good,” said Ilse ; “ that pleases me ; it is a 
charming thought that antiquity has provided 
so politely for my comfort.” 

“ Not that alone,” continued the learned man. 

“ What you know, and believe also, and much 
that occupies your heart, has been delivered to 
you through your nation from foreign sources. 
Every word that you speak has been trans- 
planted and remodelled, through hundreds of 
generations, by which it has received th.at sound 
and significance which you now use carelessly. 

It was for this object that our ancestors came 
into the country from Asia, and that Armin 
struggled with the Romans for the preservation 
of our language, that you might be able to give 
Gabriel an order which both could understand. 

It was for you the poets lived, who, in the youth 
of the Hellenic people, invented the powerful 
rhythm of the epic verse, which it gives me such 
pleasure to hear from your lips. Further, that 
you might believe, as you do, it was necessary 
that three hundred years ago there should take 
place in your Fatherland the grandest struggle 
of thought ; and again, more than a thousand 
years eai-lier, a mighty striving of the soul in a 


THE ILLNESS. 


105 


fiiiall people of Asia; and again, fifty genera- 
tions earlier still, venerated commands given 
under the tents of a wandering desert people. 
I ou have to thank a past which begins with the 
first life of man on earth for most that you have 
and are, and in this sense the whole human race 
has lived in order that you might be able to 
live.” 

Use looked excitedly at her husband. “ The 
thought is elevating,” she exclaimed, “and is 
calculated to make man proud. But how does 
that agree with this same man being a non- 
entity, and crushed like a worm in the great 
events of your history ?” 

“ As you are the child of your nation, and of 
the human i*ace, so has every individual been in 
every time : and as he has to thank the greater 
powers of earth, of which he is a portion, for 
his life, and nearly its whole import, so is his 
fate linked to the greater fate of his nation and 
to the history of mankind. Your people and 
- your race have given you much, and they re- 
quire as much from you. They have preserved 
your body and formed your mind, and they 
demand in return your body and mind. How- 
ever freely as an individual you move your 
wings, you are answerable to these creditors for 
the use of your freedom. Whether they allow 
you, as mild masters, to pass your life peace- 
fully, or at some period call upon you for higher 
payment, your duty is the same; whilst you 
think that you live and die for yourself you live 
and die for them. Contemplated in this way, 
the individual life is immeasurably small com- 
pared with the great whole. To us, the indi- 
vidual man who has passed away can only be 
discerned in so far as he has influenced others ; 
it is only in connection with that which was be- 
fore him, and came after him, that he is valuable. 
But in this sense great and little are both of 
value. For every one of us performs a duty 
towards his people who brings up his children, 
governs the State, or in any way increases the 
welfare, comfort, and culture of his race. 
Countless numbers do this without any personal 
record of them remaining ; they are like drops 
of water, which, closely united with others, run 
ou as one large stream, not distinguishable by 
later eyes. But they have not on that account 
lived in vain ; and, as countless insignificant 
individuals are preservei-s of the cultivation, and 
workers for the duration of the national 
strength, so the highest powers of individuals, — 
the greatest hero, and the noblest reformer, — 
only represent in their lives a small portion of 
that national strength. Whilst man struggles 
for himself and his own ends, he unconsciously 
influences his own time, perhaps even beyond 
his own time, and his own people for all 
futurity. He calculates only what is due to 
his life, whilst he makes the obligations of later 
men greater and nobler. You sec, my beloved, 
how death vanishes from history in such a con- 
ception. The result of life becomes more im- 
portant than life itself; beyond the man is 
the nation beyond the nation is man- 
kind; every human being that has moved 
upon earth has lived, not only for himself, but 
for all others, and for us also, — thus our life 
has been benefited by him. As the Greeks grew 
up La noble freedom and passed away, and as 


their thoughts and labours have benefited later 
generations of men, so our life, though it flows 
in a small circle, will not be useless to future 
generations.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Use, “ that is a view of 
earthly life which is only possible to those who 
do great things, and in whom later times will 
take an interest ; it makes my blood run cold. 
Is man, then, only like flowers and weeds, and 
the nation like a large meadow, and what 
remains, when they are mowed down by time, 
only useful hay, for later generations ? Surely 
all that once were and are existing have lived 
also for themselves, and for those whom they 
have loved, for wife and children and friends, 
and they were something better than ciphers 
among millions, or than a leaf ou an enormous 
tree. Though their existence is so insignificant 
and useless that you can perceive no trace of 
their work, yet the life of the beggar and of my 
poor invalid in the village and their souls ai’e 
guarded by a power which is greater than your 
great net which is woven of men’s souls.” 

She sprang up and gazed anxiously at her 
husband. “ Bow your human pride before a 
power that you do not understand.” 

The man of learning looked at his wife with 
much concern. “ I do bow myself humbly before 
the thought that the great unity of human 
beings on this earth is not the highest power of 
life. The only difference between you and me 
is, that my mind is accustomed to hold inter- 
course with the higher intellects of earth. They 
are to me revelations so holy and worthy of 
reverence, that I love to seek the Eternal and 
Incomprehensible by this path. You are accus- 
tomed to find the Inscrutable One in the con- 
ceptions which have been impressed on your 
mind through pious traditions; and I again 
repeat what I before said, your faith and yearn- 
ings arise from the same source as mine, and we 
seek the same light, though in different ways. 
What the Gods, and also the Angels and Arch- 
angels were to the faith of earlier generations — 
higher powers which, as messengers of the 
Highest, hovered about and influenced the lives 
of men^ — the great intellectual unity of nations 
and mankind are in another sense to us, person- 
alities which endure and yet pass away, though 
after different laws, from individual men. My 
endeavour to understand these laws is one form 
of my piety. You yourself will gradually learn 
to appreciate the modest and elevating concep- 
tions of the holy sphere in which I live. You 
{ilso will gradually find out that yom* fiiith and 
mine are in fact the same.” 

“ No,” cried Use, “ I see only one thing, a 
great gulph which divides my thoughts from 
yours. Oh deliver me from the anguish which 
tortures me concerning your soul.” 

“ I cannot do it, nor can it be done in a day. 
It can only be done by our own lives, by 
thousands of impressions and by thousands of 
days, in which you will become accustomed to 
look upon the world as I do.” 

He drew his wife, who was standing as if 
transfixed, nearer to liim. “ Think of the text : 

‘ In my father’s house are many mansions.’ He 
■who so spoke knew that man and wife are one 
through the strongest earthly feelings, which 
betir all and suffer all.” 


106 


THE LOST MANUSCKIFr. 


“ But what can I be to you to whom the 
individual is so iusiguificaut ? ” asked Use, 
faintly. 

“ The highest and deare«t thing on earth, ^ the 
flower of my nation, a child of my race in wiiom 
I love and honour what w'as before and will 
survive us.^^ 

Use stood alone among the foreign books, the 
wdnd how’led round the w’alls, the clouds flitted 
across the face of the moon ; soon the room became 
dark, and then w'as lighted up by a pale glimmer. 
Ill the flickering light the walls seemed to spread 
themselves to an immeasurable length ; strange 
figures rose from among the books, they glided 
by the walls, and w'cre suspended from the 
ceiling ; an army of grey shadows, which by day 
^vere banished to the bookshelves, now' advanced 
towards the w'ife, and the dead who continued 
to live as spirits on earth stretched out their 
arms to her and demanded her soul for them- 
selves. 

llse, with head erect, raised her hands on 
high, and called to her aid the beautiful images 
which from her childhood had surrounded her 
life with blessing, white figures w'ith shining 
countenances. She bent her head and prayed : 
“ Guard for me my peace of mind.” 

When llse entered her room she found on her 
table a letter from her father; she opened it 
hastily, and, after reading the first lines, sank 
dowm sobbing. 

Her father informed her of the death of an 
old friend. The good pastor had been borne 
aw'^ay from the narrow valley to the place of rest 
near his wife, which he had chosen in the 
churchyard. He had never recovered from the 
excitement which the departure of llse had 
caused him, he had passed the winter in linger- 
ing sickness, and one w'arm spring evening 
death surprised him in the garden, sitting before 
his peach-tree. There the faithful maid found 
him, and ran wdth the tei’rible news to the castle. 
Ha had a few hours before begged Clara to 
write to his dear child in the city, that all w'as 
well W'ith him. 

llse had often in the winter been anxious 
about the life of her friend, so the account w'as 
not a surprise to her. Yet she felt his loss now 
as a terrible misfortune ; it was a life which 
had been firmly and faithfully devoted to her; 
she knew w'ell that in later years she had 
become the centre of his thoughts and 
almost exclusively the object of his heart. 
She had abaudoued one who had been part 
of her life, impelled by a sti’onger feeling, 
and it now' appeared as if she had done wrong 
in parting from him. She saw the staff broken 
w'hich bound her firmly to the feelings of her 
childhood. It seemed as if the ground tottered 
beneath her, as if all had become insecure, the 
heart of her husband and her ow'n future. 

The Professor found her bent over the letter 
and dissolved in tears ; her grief struck him to 
the heart, and he begged her anxiously to think 
of herself. He spoke to her tenderly, and at 
last she raise<l her confiding eyes to him and 
promised to be composed. 

But she could not be so. .After a few' hours 
he W’as obliged to carry her to her bed. 

It W'as a dangerous illness. There were days 
in wliich sne lay in death-like weakness. When 1 


she occasionally opened her weary eyes, sho 
looked into the sorrow'ful countenance of hex 
husband, and saw Laura’s curly head tenderly 
bending over her bed; then all vanished again 
into insensibility. 

There was a long struggle bctw'ixt life and 
death, but life w'as victorious. Her first impres- 
sion, w'hen she aw'oke as from a painless slumber, 
W'as the rustling of a black dress, and the large 
curl of Frau Struvelius, w'ho had popped lier 
head through the closed curtains, and fixed her 
grey eyes sorrowfully on her. She gently spoke 
her husband’s name, and the next moment he 
W'as kneeling by her bed, covering her handw'ith 
kisses ; and the strong man had so completely 
lost all composure that he w'ept convulsively. 
She laid her hand on his head, stroked back the 
tangled hair, and said to him, gently: “Felix, 
loved one, I will live.” 

There follow'cd now' a time of great weak- 
ness and lingering recovery ; she had manj* 
hours of helpless depression, but a faint smile 
played occasionally over her pale lips. 

Spring W'as beginning : all the buds had not 
been destroyed by the night frost, and the birds 
tw'ittered before her w'indow'S. Use found w’ith 
emotion w'hat a good nurse her husband w'as, — 
how' adroitly he gave her medicine and food, and 
would scai’cely suffer any one to take his place 
by her bedside ; he stubbornly refused to take a 
few hours’ sleep in the night, till she herself 
begged him to do so w'ith moistened eyes, which 
W'as quite irresistible. She learnt from Laura 
that he had been in great distress of mind, and 
when she w'as at the w'orst had been quite dis- 
tracted and moody, and angry with every one. 
He had sat day and night by her bedside, so 
that it W’as w'onderful how he himself had been 
able to hold out. “ The physician could not 
manage him,” said Laura ; “ but I found out 
the right w’ay, for I threatened him seriously 
that I would complain to you of his obstinacy. 
Then he consented to my taking his place for a 
few hours, and at last Frau Struvelius also, but 
unwillingly, because he maintained that she 
made too much rustling.” 

Laura herself showed how devoted w’as her 
love; she W’as ulw'ays on the spot, hovering 
noiselessly about the sick bed like a bird ; she 
sat motionless for hours, and when Use opened 
her eyes, and her strength w’as a little restored, 
she had ahvays something pleasant to tell her. 
She informed her that Frau Struvelius had come 
on the second day, and, after making a little 
speech to the Professor, in which she solemnly 
claimed the right of a friend, she seated herself 
on the other side of the bed. He had not at- 
tended, however, to her speech, and had suddenly 
gone up to her and asked w'ho she was, and what 
she w'anted there. She had answered him quietly 
that she was Flamiuia Struvelius, and that her 
heart gave her a right to be there ; thereupon 
she made him another speech, and at last he 
gave in. “ Her husband, too, has been here,” 
added Laura, cautiously. “ Just w’hen you w'cre 
at the w'orst, he rushed up to your husband, w’ho 
gave him his hand, but, between ourselves, I do 
not think he knew him. Then,” related Laura, 

“ that absurd man, the Doctor, came the very 
first evening, with his dressing-gown and a tin 
coffee-machine, and declared he would w'atch 


107 


AN INQUIRY FROM THE PALACE. 


also. As he could not he allowed in the sick- 
room, he placed himself with his tin apparatus 
in the Professor’s room ; the Professor took care 
of you, and the Doctor took care of the Pro- 
fessor.” ^ Use drew Laura’s head down to her, 
and whispered in her ear, “ and sister Laura 
took care of the Doctor.” Upon this Laura 
kissed her, but shook her head vehemently. “ He 
was not troublesome, at any rate,” she continued ; 
“ he kept very quiet, and he was useful as a Cer- 
berus to keep away the visitors and dismiss the 
many inquirers. This he did faithfully. If it 
M'ei’e possible for you to see him, I believe it 
would give him great pleasure.” 

Use nodded, “ Let him come in.” The 
Doctor came ; Use stretched out her hand to- 
wards him, and felt from the warm pressure of 
his, and from the emotion on his countenance, 
that the learned confidant of her beloved one, 
on whose approbation she had not always rec- 
koned, was a true friend. Use found also that 
other gentlemen pressed to her bedside. 

“ If the wife of my colleague will give me 
audience, I beg to apply for admittance,” said a 
cheerful voice, outside. 

“ Come in, Herr Professor Raschke,” cried 
Use, from her bed. 

“ There she is,” exclaimed he, louder than is 
usual in a sick room, “ returned to the glad 
light after a dangerous criois.” 

“ What are the souls of animals doing, dear 
Herr Professor ?” asked Use. 

“ They are eating the leaves in the adjacent 
woods,” answered Raschke ; “ there have been 
numerous lady -birds this year; see, there is one 
flying to the medicine bottle ; I fear it has used 
me as an omnibus, in order to visit you. The 
trees stand like brooms, and the poultry are so 
fat that all prejudices concerning the enjoyment 
of these fellow-creatui’es are quite set aside. I 
count the days until the happy moment arrives 
when my friend will allow me to show a proof 
of my improvement.” 

It was a slow recovery, but accompanied by 
abundant consolatory feelings ; for fate gi-ants 
to convalescents, as a compensation for danger 
and suffering, to view all around them, free from 
the dust of the work-a-day world, in pure out- 
lines and fresh brilliancy. Use now felt this 
mild poetry of the sick bed, when she held out 
her hand to the honest Gabriel, which he kissed, 
holding his handkerchief to his eyes, udiilst the 
Professor extolled his devoted service. She felt 
this pleasure also when going down with the 
help of Laura’s arm into the garden. Herr 
Hilmmel advanced to her respectfully, in his 
best coat, with his hair brushed down and his 
defiant eyes softened almost into a mild expres- 
sion, and behind him followed slowly his dog 
Speihahn, his head also bent in unwilling re- 
spect. \V'hen Herr Hummel had ofiered his 
homage, he said, sympathisingly : “If you should 
ever wish for a little quiet exercise, I beg of you 
to make use of my boat at your pleasure.” This 
was the greatest favour that Herr Hummel could 
show, for he did not give credit to the inhabi- 
tants of the country in which he lived for any 
of the capacity which is necessary for aquatic 
excui’sions. He was undoubtedly right when he 
called a voyage in his boat a quiet amusement ; 
for the bout had this year, from the low state of 


the water, been frequently stranded, and the 
greatest amusement that he was enabled to have 
was to stretch out his hands to both banks, and 
tear up a tuft of grass with each. 

When Use began to sit again in her room, it 
often happened that the door opened gently, her 
husband entered, kissed her, and then returned 
well pleased to his books. When she read in 
his eyes his tender anxiety, and his happiness in 
her recovery, and in having her again near him, 
she no longer doubted his love, and felt that 
she ought to be no longer anxious about what 
he thought of the life and passing away cf indi- 
viduals and of nations. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Among- the inquiries after the Professor’s wife 
during her illness, there was one made by a 
stranger. Gabriel excited a little astonishment 
in the household when he mentioned : “ Once, 
as I was running to the apothecary, a man of 
refined appearance was standing in the street 
in conversation with Dorchen. Dorchen called 
out to me, and the man made inquiries concei’n- 
ing everything, and your illness appeared to 
him very inopportune.” 

“ Did you ask his name ?” 

“ He would not mention it. He was from 
your country, and had only made inquiries on 
his journey through.” 

“ Perhaps it was some one from Rossau,” said 
Use, annoyed. “ I hope he will not have made 
my father anxious by his talk.” 

Gabriel shook his head. “ He intended some- 
thing by it ; he was spying after the whole house- 
hold, and asked impudent questions that I would 
not answer. As he had a crafty look, I followed 
him to the nearest inn, and the waiter told me 
that he was the valet of a prince.” Gabriel 
mentioned the name. 

“ That is our Sovereign !” cried Use ; “ what 
can make him take such interest in me ?” 

“ The man wished to take some news home,” 
replied her husband. “ He was among the 
retinue on the hunting expedition, and it was 
kindly meant.” 

This answer quieted Gabriel, and Use, much 
pleased, said ; “ It is very nice when the father 
of the country takes such interest in his children 
who are at a distance when they are ill.’’ 

Meanwhile there was some foundation for 
Gabriel’s shaking his head : the inquiries did 
signify something. 

A young lady was sitting on the grass behind 
the buildings of a farm-house, tying up the 
wild flowers of the meadow in a large nosegay ; 
a ball of 'blue wool rolled in her lap v henever 
she added a new handful of flowers. A youth 
was busily running about in the deep gi*ass, col- 
lecting and arranging the flowers according to 
colour for the nosegay-maker. It was evident 
that the youth and young lady were brother and 
sister from the family likeness, and the rich 
walking-dress left no doubt that they had not 
blossomed amidst the clover and camomile of 
the earth, even though the horses’ heads and 
the galocn-trimmed hats of the servants had 


108 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


not been perceptible through a gap between the 
barns on the other side of the road. 

“ You will never accomplish your nosegay, 
Siddy,” said the young gentleman, discou- 
ragingly, to the lady, as she awkwardly tried to 
knot the broken wool. 

“ If the thread were but stronger,” cried the 
industrious maiden ; “ Make me a knot.” It 
appeared that the young gentleman was not 
more expert. 

“ You will see, Benno, hew beautiful the 
nosegay will be, — this is my art.” 

“ It is all much too loose,” retorted the young 
gentleman. 

“ It is well enough for the first time,” replied 
Siddy ; “ there, see my hands, how sweet they 
smell.” She showed the pink points of her 
little fingers, holding them up to his face, and 
as he good-humouredly smelt them, she gave 
him a rap on the nose. “ I have had enough of 
the red flowers,” she continued, again occupied 
with the nosegay ; “ now I must have one more 
circle of white.” 

“ What kind of white ?” 

“ If I did but know the name,” replied Siddy, 
thoughtfully j “ I mean, I believe. Marguerites. 
How do you call these white flowers ?” she 
asked, looking back to a countrywoman who 
stood some steps respectfully behind the busy 
pair, looking on at their proceedings with a 
pleased smile. 

“ We call them daisies,” said the woman. 

“ Ah, that’s it ?” cried Siddy ; “ cut long 
stalks, Benno.” 

“ They have not got long stalks,” said Benno, 
plaintively, carrying her what he could pick 
near at hand. “ I will tell you what astonishes 
me,” he began, sitting down by his sister on the 
grass. “ This meadow is full of flowers ; when 
it is mowed, hay is made from it, and one sees 
nothing of the flowers in the hay.” . 

“ Nothing,” replied Siddy, knotting the wool 
again. “ They also are probably dried up.” 

Benno shook his head. “Only look at a 
bundle of hay; you will see nothing in it. I 
think people pluck them beforehand, and sell 
them in the city.” 

Siddy laughed, and, pointing over the green 
plain, said, “ Look around you ; they are count- 
less, and people only buy the more lasting 
garden flowers ; yet these are far prettier. How 
lovely is the star in the flower of our Frau 
Marguerite.” She held the nosegay up to her 
brother, and looked lovingly at her work of art. 

You have indeed accomplished it,” said the 
young gentleman, with admiration ; “ you were 
always a clever girl. I am sorry, Siddy, that 
you are going away from us,” he added, sorrow- 
fully. 

His sister gave him a serious look. “ Is that 
true ? Ever preserve your affection for me, my 
brother ; you are the only one here from whom 
I find it difficult to part. Benno, we are like 
two orphan children sitting in the snow in a 
cold winter night.” 

She who thus spoke was Princess Sidonie, 
and the sun was shining warm on the blooming 
meadow before her. 

“ How do you like my bridegroom ? ” she 
asked, after a pause, winding busily the blue 
thi’cad round the finished nosegay. 


“ He is a handsome man, and was very kind 
to me,” said Benno, thoughtfully. “ But is he 
clever ? ” 

Siddy nodded. He is pretty well for that. 
He writes nice letters. If you like you shall 
read one.” 

“ I shall be glad to do so,” said Benno. 

“ Do you know ? ” continued Siddy, mysteri- 
ously, “I also write to him every day, for I 
think a woman ought to confide everything to 
her husband, great and small, and I will ac- 
custom him and myself to that. I write to him, 
for the sake of security, under a false address, 
and my maid takes the letters to the post, for I 
fear my stupid words might otherwise be read 
before they go.” She spoke this with apparent 
indifference, contemplating her nosegay. “ Ho 
will hear every minute detail of this visit te 
Frau Marguerite, and that it has given you 
pleasure. Now the nosegay is ready,” she ex- 
claimed, gaily, “I will fasten a handkerchief 
round it ; we will take it in the carriage, and I 
will set it on my writing-table.” 

Benno laughed : “ It looks like a club. You 
can lend it this evening to the savages in tlie 
ballet.” 

“ It is better than the flat plates which one 
cannot even put in water,” replied the sister, 
jumping up; “come along, we will carry it to 
the pump.” 

They hastened, followed by the peasant 
woman, to the farmyard. Benno laid hold of a 
pitcher and carried it to the pump. 

“ I will pump,” cried Siddy. She seized the 
handle and tried to move it, but did not succeed ; 
only a few drops ran into the pitcher. 

Benno found fault with her. “ You are 
awkward; let me try.” He now laid hold of 
the wooden handle, and Siddy took the pitcher. 
He pressed it down vigorously, and the water 
gushed out over the pitcher, and over the hands 
and dress of the Princess. She made a slight 
exclamation, let the pitcher drop, and then both 
burst out laughing. 

“ You have made a nice mess of me, you 
naughty Bonbon,” cried Siddy. “Oh, it does 
not signify, mother,” she added, to console the 
woman, who ran up terrified, clasping her hands. 
“ Now, Benno, an idea has occurred to me : I 
will put on a gown of our dame Marguerite, 
and you a smock-frock of her husband, and 
when our cousin comes he will not know us, 
and we will surprise him.” 

“If it only turns out all well,” rejoined 
Benno, thoughtfully. 

“ No one sees us,” urged Siddy. “ Good 
mother,” she said, coaxingly, to the country- 
woman, “ come into your room, and help us to 
dress.” 

The young Prince and Princess took the 
woman by the hand and led her into the house. 
Benno laid his coat down in the hall, and looked 
doubtfully at the smock-frock, which was 
brought to him by a stout maid, who assisted 
him to put it on. The elegant peasant lad 
seated himself patiently on a bench, whilst he 
waited for his companion, and employed his 
leisure in turning a grinding-stone and in- 
quisitively holding the tips of his fingers close 
to it. Whilst he was making this experiment, 
he received a slight blow on his back, and beheld 


109 


AN INQUIRY FROM THE PALACE. 


with amazement, standinsj behind him, a little 
peasant maid, in blue petticoat and black 
jacket, and the usual cap of the country on her 
head. 

“ How do you like my appearance ? ** asked 
Siddy, crossing her arms. 

“ Charming,” exclaimed Benno. I had no 
idea that 1 had such a pretty sister.” 

Siddy made a rustic curtsy. “ Where have 
your eyes been, you foolish Bonbon ? Now we 
must help in the household. What have you 
for your now servants to do, Frau Marguerite ?” 

The woman simpered. “ There is the fodder 
for the cows to be steeped in hot water,” she 
said. 

“ No more water, we have had enough of that. 
Come, Benno, we will meanwhile lay the table 
in the garden under the fruit-trees, and carry 
the sour milk there.” 

They went into the room, and carried out a 
small bench and placed it on the grass-plot, 
under an apple-tree j then they flew back for the 
plates and spoons. The woman and the maid 
brought the table, a largo bowl of milk, and 
some black brearl. Siddy tripped about nimbly, 
laid the tablecloth, and carefully smoothed it out, 
and placed the coloured earthenware on it. 

“ Look ! ” whispered Benno, pointing w’ith a 
troubled air to the rather worn pewter spoons. 

“ We will wash them, and dry them wdth 
green leaves,” advised the sister. 

Again they ran with the spoons to the pump, 
and rubbed them hard with the leaves, but they 
could not polish them. 

“ It is their nature,” said Benno, consolingly ; 
“ and is part of a country feast.” 

The table was laid, and Siddy brought for- 
ward some stools and wiped them with her 
cambric handkerchief. 

“ You are the Hereditary Prince,” said Siddy, 
“ so you must sit on the bench, and we on each 
side of you. The black bread must be crum- 
bled, but every one can do that for themselves. 
There is no sugar ; that will never do.” 

They sat waiting before the milk bowl, beat- 
ing time with the spoons. A little green apple 
fell into the middle of the milk, and spattered it 
about. Both burst out laughing, sprang up, 
and collected the unripe apples and plums from 
the grass, peering across the hedge at a path 
which led through the woods to the town. 

“ He comes,” cried Benno j “ hide yourself ! ” 

A horseman rode up at a gallop. It was a 
young officer. He threw himself oil' his snorting 
horse, fastened it to a post, and leapt over the 
hedge. But he stopped amazed, for he was 
greeted with a cross-fire of unripe apples and 
plums from each side of the hedge. He quickly 
collected some of the green shot, and defended 
himself us well as he could against the assault. 
The little peasant sprang forth, and Benno cried 
out, “ You have kept us waiting a long time.” 

Siddy made him a curtsy, saying, “ Prince, 
the sour milk is served.” 

Prince Victor looked with evident admiration 
at the jmuiig peasant. “ Eh !” he said, good- 
humouredly, “ now one sees how small the feet 
are before which one does homage. All right, 
children. But first of all I must have satisfac- 
tion for the attack.^^ 

So saying, he twisted his pocket-handkerchief 


together, and the brother and sister laughed, 
and said, beseechingly, “Be good, cousin, we 
will not do it again.” “Ah, dear Herr Ogre, 
pardon and compassion !” implored Siddy, raising 
the corner of her apron to her eyes. 

“ Nothing of the kind,” cried Victor ; “ I 
hold you in arrest, and will first of aU punish 
you.” He chased them round the table. 

“ This is disagreeable, cousin,” cried Siddy ; 
“ let us leave oft* this nonsense, and come to the 
table. I will help you. There is the cream. 
Everything must be in right order when Victor 
is present.” 

Victor examined the table. “ It is all very 
nice, but there is no sugar.” 

“ There was none to be had,” cried the brother 
and sister, in chorus. 

Victor put his hand into his pocket, and 
placed a silver box on the table. “ What would 
become of you without me ? Here is the sugar.” 
He again dipped into his pocket, and brought 
out a leathern flask with a small drinking-glass. 
“ Here is another important thing, the cognac.” 
' “ Wliat for ?” asked Siddy. 

“To drink, most gracious cousin. If you 
w'ill put this cold mess into your interior without 
cognac, I shall not venture to oppose you ; but 
I advise you, Benno, as a man, to take care of 
your health.” 

Both held their spoons with an air of embar- 
rassment. 

“ Is that necessary ?” asked Benno, distrust- 
ftiUy. 

“ It is a calmant, as our doctor says,” de- 
clared Victor ; “ it calms and quells the rebel 
substances into quiet submission. If you refuse 
the cognac, it is the way to hell. The path is 
easy at the beginning, but afterwards it is 
chaos. At all events, you will be spared the 
ballet to-day. Is that clear to you ?” 

“ It is very clear,” cried Siddy, “ that you 
always get the better of us. Give him a rap on 
his fingers, Benno.” 

Benno tapped his hand with the spoon. 
Victor sprang up and parried it, in fencing pos- 
ture, with his spoon ; and the brother and sister 
chased their cousin merrily about among the 
trees. 

They w'ere disturbed by a hasty tread, and a 
lackey made his appearance for a moment at the 
garden-gate. “ His most Serene Highness is 
riding this way,” he called out. 

All three stood still ; the spoons fell into the 
grass. “ We are discovered,” cried Siddy, 
turning pale. “ Away with you, Victor.” 

“ I am an officer, and dare not run away,*’ ho 
replied, shrugging his shoulders. He seized his 
sword and fastened it hastily on. 

“ You must take everything upon you, Benno.” 
exclaimed the sister. 

“ I would willingly do it,” replied he, timidly, 
“ but I have never had any aptitude for inven- 
tion.” 

The Prince dismounted in front of the farm- 
house, helped by his equerry. The lackey has- 
tened forward to open the doors, and slowly did 
fiite approach. The Prince entered the garden, 
and his sharp eyes rested on the young Prince 
and Princess, who were standing stiffly in their 
places, making their obeisances to him. 

An ironical smile curled his lip when he saw 


110 


THE LOST MANUSCRIFl’. 


the arrangernent of the table. ** Which of you 
has arranged this country carnival he asked. 
All were silent. “Answer, Benno,” he said, 
turning moodily to the young gentleman iu the 
blue smock-frock. 

“ Siddy and I wished to have a little pastime 
in the meadow before she left our country. I 
awkwardly sprinkled my sister with water, and 
she was obliged to undress.” 

“ Where is your lady in waiting, Sidonie ?” 
he asked his daughter. 

“ I begged her to go to her aunt on the next 
property, and to fetch me from hence iu an 
hour,” replied the Princess Sidonie. 

“ You have not done right in forgetting my 
commands, in order to gratify your own wishes ; 
and she neglected her duty in allowing the 
Princess to get into such an adventure. It is 
not fitting that princesses should enter village 
houses alone, and disguise themselves.” 

■ The Princess compressed her lips. “ My 
gracious lord and father, forgive me. I was not 
alone. I had the best protector with me that a 
princess of our house could haye, that was your 
Highness’s son, my illustrious brother.” 

The Prince drew back some steps, and looked 
silently in her face ; and, so strong was the ex- 
pression of auger and aversion iu his counten- 
ance, that the Princess turned pale and cast 
down her eyes. “ Has the Princess appointed 
Prince Victor to be one of her protectors in the 
peasant’s farm ?” he inquired. “ Has Lieu- 
tenant” — he mentioned his family name — “per- 
mission to leave the garrison ?” 

“ I have ridden out without permission,” re- 
plied the Prince, with military composure. 

“ Report yourself under arrest,” commanded 
the Prince. 

Victor saluted and turned away. He unfas- 
tened his horse, and, nodding behind the Prince’s 
back, over the hedge, to his cousin, he trotted 
back to the town. 

“ Make haste and take off this mummery,” 
ordered the Prince. “ The Princess will drive 
home in the carriage with the Hereditary 
Prince.” He made a sign to the young people, 
who made their obeisances and hastened from 
the garden. 

“ I had a foreboding of this misfortune,” said 
the Hereditary Prince, to his sister, iu the car- 
riage. “ Poor Siddy ?” 

“ I had rather be the maid of this country- 
woman, and wear wooden shoes, than continue 
to bear this life of slavery,” cried the angry 
Princess. 

“ But do not make any remarks at dinner,” 
begged Benno. 

Tlie nosegay of wild flowers stood in the 
pitcher, and was torn to pieces in the evening 
by the countrywoman’s cow. 

The day following, the Lord High Steward of 
Ottenburg, an old gentleman with white hair, 
entered the apartment of the Pi-ince. “I have 
given your Excellence the trouble of coming,” 
began the Prince, politely, “ because I wish to 
obtain your advice in some family affairs. The 
day approaches when the Princess will leave us. 
Have you spoken to my daughter to-day ?” he 
said, interrupting himself. 

“ I come from her Highness,” answered the 
old lord, respectfully. 


The Prince smiled. “ I had yesterday to 
speak seriously to her. The children took into 
their heads to act an idyl, and I found them in 
peasants’ dresses and wild spirits. Our dear 
Siddy had forgotten that such games might ex- 
pose her to misinterpretation, which she has 
every reason to avoid.” 

The Lord High Steward bowed silently. 

“ But it is not a question of the Princess now. 
The time has arrived when a decision must be 
come to concerning the next few years of the 
Hereditary Prince’s life. 1 have thought of his 
entering one of the large armies, in spite of the 
consideration due to his delicate health. You know 
that there is only one state in which this could 
be possible, and even there unexpected difficul- 
ties have arisen. There are two regiments in 
which one might be secure that the Prince would 
only have familiar intercourse with officers of 
high family. One of these regiments is com- 
manded by that Kobell, who quitted our service 
some years ago. It is not fitting to make the 
Prince his subordinate. In the other regiment 
an unexpected occurrence has taken place within 
this last month. A certain Herr Miillcr has been 
introduced into it, contrary to the wishes of the 
corps of officers. Thus the Hereditary Prince 
is debarred from belonging to the only army 
which he could enter.” 

“ Allow me to ask whether this second hin- 
drance might not be removed ?” said the Lord 
High Steward. 

“ They would gladly do anything to please us,” 
replied the Prince, “ but they do not know how 
to manage it; for the appointment of the citizen 
lieutenant was made on political grovmds.” 

“ Could the difficulty not be removed by giv- 
ing rank to the family of the lieutenant ?” sug- 
gested the Lord High Steward. 

“ That has been cautiously tried, but the 
father would not consent ; and, indeed, your 
Excellence, the objection would remain the 
same. You know that I am not a purist in 
these things, but daily intercourse with such a 
person would bo unpleasant to the Hereditary 
Prince. Whether Muller, or Von Muller, the 
dust of the flour would remain.” 

There was a pause. At last the Lord High 
Steward began : “ The advantages of a military 
career are certainly undeniable for young princes 
without means, or the possibility of finding any 
other active employment ; but it is doubtful for 
a prince who needs a preparation for a great 
career. I remember that in former times your 
Highness did not take a favourable view of a 
soldier’s life at Court.” 

“ I do not deny that ” replied the Prince. “ I 
must acknowledge to you that I do take this 
view. The usual condition of society is not now 
that of war, but of peace. The necessary train- 
ing of a young prince for war undoubtedly deve- 
lops some manly parts of his character, but 
throws him in all essential matters into the 
hands of his officials. In confidence, your Ex- 
cellence, a pleasure iu epaulets lasts just during 
the tin>e of peace ; but in case of a great w xr, 
where real military talent is requisite, the mili- 
tary dilettanteism of princes, with few excep- 
tions, turns out quite useless. All this is unde- 
niable. Unfortunately it is at present no longer 
the fashion, when this career is chosen, as it is 


Ill 


AN INQUIRY FROM THE PALACE. 


i<t most Courts, for young princes to free it from 
serious duty. Ihe times in which we live arc 
sucli that a strict connection betweeu the Court 
and nrmies is inevitable ; and what in better 
times had ceased to be necessary is now the sup- 
port of princes.” 

“ I do not see that the position of illustrious 
princes is strengthened by their being bad 
generals,” answered the Lord High Steward. 
“ Indeed, I venture to think that many of the 
difficulties which now occur between princes and 
their people arise from the fact that our princes 
occupy themselves too much with the shoeing 
of horses, the training of recruits, and with the 
prejudices and ill conduct of garrisons, and have 
too little of the firmness, noble pride, and 
princely feeling which can only be developed 
by practice in great affairs.” 

'1 he Prince smiled. “Your Excellence, then, 
is of opinion that the Hereditary Prince should 
visit the University ? — for there is no other 
mode of training when he leaves this Court. 
The Prince is weak and easily led, and the 
dangers he would incur on this path are still 
greater than intercourse with officers of inferior 
grade.” 

“ It is true,” intei'posed the Lord High 
Steward, “ that during the next few years the 
Hereditary Prince may find certain drawbacks 
in the advantages of an academy ; but with re- 
spect to personal intercourse, there are sons of 
ancient families who are worthy of the honour 
of associating with the Prince. It would 
perhaps be easier there for the young gentleman 
to keep clear of unsuitable society than in a 
regiment.” 

“ It is not this danger which I fear for him,” 
replied the Prince ; “ but the unpractical theo- 
ries and disturbing ideas which are there 
promulgated.” 

“ Yet one ought, in the first place, to learn 
what one has to strive against,” rejoined the 
Lord High Steward. “ Does your Highness con- 
sider, from the multifarious experience which 
you have attained through a highly intellectual 
life, that an acquaintance with these ideas is so 
dangerous ?” 

“ Does any one go to hell in order to become 
pious ?” asked the Prince, good-humouredly. 

“ A great poet having ventured this,” replied 
the Lord High Steward, “ wrote his divine 
poem ; and my precious master, who himself has 
always preserved a warm interest in learned 
pursuits, considers our Universities at best as a 
species of mild purgatory. If an infernal flame 
should cling to the soul of our illustrious Prince 
tj ' after his return from this place, it will soon be 
■p eradicated by the high interests of his princely 
K- calling.” 

^ “ Yes,” assented the Prince, with lofty ex- 

|< pression, “ there is a consecration in the office 
i' of princes which fits even a weak man for the 
L. great interests which he has to grapple with 
Hi through his life. Rut, your Excellence, it is 
difficult to observe without contemptuous pity 
. ■ the sentimental fools’ paradise of the new rulers, 
and hear the old phrases of love and confidence 
believed in and spoken of by princely mouths. 
Undoubtely these popular ebullitions are transi- 
tory, and many of us older ones have once in- 
dulged in dreams, and endeavoured to plant 


green moss where it has been withered by the 
sun; but the fearful dangers of the present 
times make such wavering more dangerous to 
the new rulers, and false steps in the beginning 
of a reign may often ruin the position of the 
ruler afterwards.” 

The Lord High Steward replied apologetically : 
“It is perhaps well to be wiser than others, but 
to be more moderate is at no period advan- 
tageous. StiU a little poetry and youthful 
enthusiasm may be allowed to our princes ; and 
if I therefore venture to recommend a visit to 
the University for his Highness the Hereditary 
Prince, it is with the satisfactory feeling that in 
doing so I express your Highness’s own opinion.” 

The Prince looked sharply at the Lord High 
Steward, and a sudden cloud passed over his 
brow. “ How should you know what my seci’ct 
thoughts are ? ” 

“ That would be quite a vain attempt with 
your Highness,” replied the old lord, gently, 
“ and it would little benefit an old servant to spy 
into the secret thoughts of his master. But 
your Highness has always hitherto given the 
Hereditary Prince governors and attendants 
who were not military. This leads every one 
to a conclusion respecting your Highness’s 
wishes.” 

“ You are right, as always,” said the Prince, 
appeased. “ It is a pleasure to me to find that 
your views coincide with mine. For it is a 
serious decision that I have to make ; it robs 
me for a long time of the company of my dear 
Benno.” 

The Lord High Steward showed his sympathy 
by a silent bow. “Y'our Highness’s decision 
will undoubtedly produce great changes, for it 
will at the same time remove all the young 
people from the Court.” 

“ All ? ” asked the Prince, surprised. “ ITie 
Hereditary Prince will depart shortly after the 
marriage of his sister, but Prince Victor will 
still remain behind.” 

“ Then I humbly beg your pardon,” rejoined 
the Lord High Steward. “ 1 had taken for 
granted that the departure of the Hereditary 
Prince would be followed by the entrance of 
Prince Victor into a foreign army.” 

“ What makes you think that ? ” said the 
Prince, with surprise. “ I have not the least 
intention of providing for Pi’ince Victor abroad; 
he may practise the art of riding in our squad- 
rons.” 

“ In this case his position at Court would be 
altered,” said the Lord High Steward, thought- 
fully ; “ he has hitherto ranked as a member of 
this illustrious house.” 

“ What is your meaning, my Lord High 
Steward ? ” replied the Prince, captiously. 

“ Will your Highness gi’aciously explain how 
that can be avoided ? The rights ot l)lood can 
never be given or taken away. The Prince is the 
nearest relation of the Royal Family, and the 
rules of the Court re(iuire an answering position, 
and the Court will be more respected if the 
Prince is not disowned.” 

“ The Court !” exclaimed the Prince, contemp- 
tuously ; “ speak out, you mean the Lord High 
Steward.” 

“ The Lonl High Steward is appointed by 
your Highness to watch over the regulations of 


112 


THE LOST MANUSCIllFr. 


the Court,” replied the old geutleman, Muth 
solemnity. “ But as my personal opinion, I 
venture to suggest that service in this capital 
and the proximity of the Court are not advan- 
tageous for the active and energetic spirit of 
IVince Victor; it may be foreseen that your 
Highness will often have occasion to be dis- 
satisfied with him, and that the loss of your 
Highness’s favour, under the circumstances of 
the lively and popular character of the Prince, 
may give occasion to continual scandal and 
malicious talk. Therefore I venture to assume 
that the considerations which hinder the mili- 
tary career of the Hereditary Prince in a foreign 
army will have no weight as regards Prince 
Victor.” 

The Prince looked dowm moodily. At last he 
began, as if convinced : I thank you for having 
brought before me these considerations : I will 
come to a decision after mature deliberation. 
Your Excellence may be satisfied that I know 
how to value the wai-rn sympathy you take in 
me and mine.” He bowed, and the Lord High 
Steward left the room; the furrows deepened in 
the face of the Prince as he looked after the old 
man. 

The consequence of this conversation was 
that the Hereditary Prince was sent to the 
University, where the event produced an excite- 
nient very difierent to the composure of the 
Court. 

The Magnificus came one evening to Professor 
Werner, and after greeting Use, began, “ You 
set a good example to your country when you 
came to us; a communication has been made 
from head-quarters to the University that in the 
next term your Hereditary Prince will begin 
his studies among us.” Then, turning to the 
Professor, he continued : “ It is expected that 
we shall all do what we can, compatibly with the 
duties of our office, to advance the education of 
the young Prince. I have to convey to you the 
wishes of his Highness that you should give 
lectures to the Hereditary Prince in his own 
room.” 

“I shall give no Prince’s lectures,” replied 
the Professor ; “ my branch of learning is too 
comprehensive for that ; it cannot be packed up 
in a nutshell.” 

“ Perhaps you could lecture on some popular 
theme,” advised the prudent Magnificus. “ It 
appears to me that greater value attaches to the 
beneficial effect of your personal intercourse 
with the Prince than to the contents of the 
lectures.” 

“ If it is agreeable to the Prince to be in our 
house, and he will accommodate himself to our 
habits, I will show him every respectful and 
fitting attention. But in my course of instruc- 
tion I shall make no change on his account. If 
he attends my lectures as a student, well and 
good ; but I will never give any in his room or 
in that of any one else.” 

“ Will not your refusal bo received as dis- 
obliging ? ” rejoined the Rector. 

“ It is possible,” replied the Professor, ** and 
I must acknowledge to you that in this case it 
is particularly painful to me. But no personal 
consideration shall induce me to give up a 
principle. I have formerly experienced how 
humiliating it is to interrupt important work 


for the sake of a boy who has not the necessary 
preparatory knowledge and is deficient in the 
power of comprehending and taking a real in- 
terest in it. 1 will never do it again. But I 
will do all that I can, as far as is possible, for an 
individual (for the advantage of this young 
gentleman) whose studies lie far from the high 
road of princely education. If they wish to 
learn of us what may be profitable for their 
future life, they must do so in a regular way, 
and they should come to us with the preparatory 
knowledge which will alone make it possible for 
them to derive advantage from learning. I 
have here and there observed from the distance 
how sad is the education of most of them. The 
shallow and superficial nature of their training, 
which renders it almost impossible for them to 
take a warm interest in any domain of in- 
tellectual labour, is also of little value for their 
future life, and gives them little capacity for 
their duties as rulers. We participate in in- 
flicting this injury if we impart the gloss and 
varnish of learned culture to youths who have 
not in truth as much knowledge as a tertianer. 
It is not necessary to visit the University in 
order to become a useful man ; but if one enters 
this difficult path — and I think undoubtedly 
that every future ruler ought to do so — it should 
be in a way that will secure valuable results. I 
do not condemn the teachers who think other- 
wise,” concluded the Professor, “ there is with- 
out doubt a discipline by which it may be 
possible and useful to impress upon the mind 
certain important things. But the study of 
ancient learning is not of this class, and, there- 
fore, I beg to be excused giving private lessons 
to the young Prince.” 

The Rector shrugged his shoulders, and ex- 
pressed his approbation of these principles. 

“ My poor Hereditary Prince,” cried Hse, 
pityingly, when the Rector left. 

“My poor manuscript,” parodied the Pro- 
fessor, laughing. 

“ But you have made an exception in favour 
of your wife,” rejoined Use. 

“ Here the instruction is only the guide to 
the elucidation of our whole life,” replied the 
Professor. “Under these circumstances, you 
will only be able to contemplate the future 
Sovereign of Bielstein from a distance as be- 
longing to you ; and I shall lose also certain 
faint hopes which I had built upon the fleeting 
acquaintance with his father. For it is un- 
doubtedly probable that any refusal will be con- 
sidered as an act of capricious pride.” 

The Professor might have been at ease upon 
this point. Caro would be taken that his views 
should not reach the destination for which they 
were intended. The sharpness would be blunted, 
the point broken, for indeed in the higher re- 
gions such an idea would be considered so 
monstrous that it could only be put down to 
the account of a reprobate man ; and this was 
by no means the case with the Professor. 

The Rector was cautious enough to give plau- 
sible reasons for Werner’s refusal, and at the 
Prince’s palace it was determined that the 
Hereditary Prince should attend the Professor’s 
lectures. On a syllabus of Werner’s lectures 
being sent, a trifling one was selected : it was 
on the inspection and explanation of casts of 


113 


AN INQUIRY FROM THE PALACE. 


antique sculpture, during which the Hereditary 
Prince and liis attendant had at least not to 
sit among a variety of coloured caps, but could 
wander about in princely isolation. 

Again did the ripened ears of corn wave 
gently under the autumn breeze, when Use went 
with her husband to the home of her childhood 
to visit her father. A year abounding in happi- 
ness, but not free from pain, had passed. Her 
own life also had been a little history in which 
.she had experienced peace and strife, progress 
and weakness. Her pale cheeks showed that 
she had encountered sutfering, and her thougnt- 
ful countenance portrayed the serious thoughts 
that had passed through her mind ; but when 
she glanced at the weather-beaten church, and 
fixed her eyes on the dark roof of her father’s 
nouse, everything was forgotten, and she felt 
again as a child in the peaceful home which now 
appeared so refreshing and comforting. The 
farming people thronged round the gate ; and 
when her sisters rushed to meet her, and her 
father, towering above all, assisted her and her 
husband out of the carriage, she clasped every 
one of them in a silent embrace ; but when the 
little Franz sprang up to her, she pressed him 
to her heart, and, losing all her composure, burst 
into tears, and the father was obliged to take 
the child from her arms. 

They could only pay a shoi*t visit, for his pro- 
fessional business compelled the Professor to 
return home scon ; and though he had proposed 
to Use to remain longer with her father, she de- 
clined doing so. 

The father looked searchingly at the manner 
and countenance of his daughter, and made the 
Professor tell him repeatedly how rapidly and 
easily she had become at home in the city. 
Meanwhile Use flew through the farm -yard and 
garden out into the fields, again gambolling 
with her little sisters, who w’ould not let go her 
hand. 

“ You are all grown,” she exclaimed, “ but 
my curly head most of all, — he will be like 
his father. You will be a country gentleman, 
Franz.” 

“ No, a Professor,” answered the boy. 

“ Ah, you poor child ! ” said Use. 

The labourers left their work and hastened 
to meet her, and there were many kind greet- 
ings and questions : the head carter stopped his 
horses, and the grey tossed its head. “ It knows 
you well,” said the man, cracking his whip 
gaily, llse went into the village, to pay a tri- 
bute of respect to the dead and to visit the 
living. It was with difficulty that she could get 
away from the invalid Benz, and when at last 
she did so, he called for his table, and with 
trembling hands gave expression to his joy in 
poetry. She then made a careful inspection of 
tlie farm-yard. Accompanied by a train of 
maids, she walked between the rows of cattle, 
in spite of her fashionable dress, like the le- 
gendary Frau Berchta, who scattered blessings 
tliroughout the countryman’s stable and house. 
Slie stopped before every horned head ; the cows 
raised their mouths to her, lowing, and of each 
there was some important news to tell. The 
maids showed her proudly the young calves, 
and begged her to give namor to the grown-up 
S 


heifers — for the master had desired that these 
young ones should be named by Use — and she 
gave them the distinguished ones of Kalypso 
and Xantippe. All was familiar, all as formerly, 
and yet at every step there was something new 
to eye and ear. 

Clara showed her her household accounts : the 
maiden had kept them admirably : the praises 
of her that were imparted by ^lamselle, and, 
what was of more importance, in confidential 
conversation, by the head dairymaid to Use, gave 
her great pleasure, and she said, “Now I am 
quite satisfied you can do without me here.” 

Towards evening the Professor sought his 
wife, who had been absent some hours. He 
heard the noise of the children by the brook, 
and guessed where Use was. Wlien he turned 
round the rock by the cave he saw her sitting 
in the shadow, her eyes turned to her father’s 
house. He called her name, and stretched out 
his arms towards her ; she flew to his bosom, 
and said, softly : “ I know that my home is in 
your heart ; be indulgent if the old times now 
come across my mind and move me deeply.” 

At night, when her father conducted the Pro- 
fessor to his bedroom, still conversing with him 
over business and politics. Use sent her sister 
Clara to bed, and seated herself on a chair. 
Wlien her father came in to fetch his candle 
from the table, he found Use again in her old 
place, waiting to bid him good-night, and she 
held the candle for him. He placed it on the 
table, and went, as he had done of yore, up to 
her, and began, “You are paler and more serious 
than you used to be. Will that pass away ?” 

“ I hope it will pass away,” replied the 
daughter. After a time she continued, “ They 
think very diSerently to us in the city, and 
believe very differently, father.” 

The father nodded. “ That was the reason I 
was anxious about you.” 

“ And it is impossible for me to free myself 
from painful thoughts,” said Use, softly. 

“ Poor child,” cried the father, “ it passes my 
powers to help you. For us, in the country, it 
is easy to believe in a father’s care, when one 
goes across the fields and sees the grow'th of 
everything. But let a simple countryman say a 
word in confidence to you. Diffidence and self- 
renunciation are necessary in all earthly con- 
cerns. We are not better in the country and 
more sensible because we care little for what is 
mysterious to man. We have no time for subtle 
inquiries, and if a thought alarms us, our work 
helps to drive it away. But frequently doubts 
arise. I have had days — and have still when 
my brains have been on the rack, although I 
knew that no good would come of it ; therefore 
I endeavour now to keep such thoughts away. 
This is prudence, but it is not courage. You 
are placed in a sphere in which hearing and re- 
flecting are unavoidable. You must struggle 
on through it, Use. But do not forget two 
things : on difficult subjects men take very 
different points of view, and on that account 
they have, from the most ancient times, hated 
and slaughtered each other like cannibals, 
because each one will consider himself in the 
right. This should be a warning to us. There 
is only one thing effectual against doubts : to 
do your duty and concern yourself with what 


114 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


lies in your daily path ; for the rest, do not des- 
pair because one thinks differently from another. 
Are you sure of your husband’s love ?” 

Yes,” replied Use. 

“And have you a thorough respect for his 
conduct to yourself and others ?” 

“ Yes,” cried Use. 

“ Then all is right,” said the father ; “ for a 
tree is known by its fruits. With respect to 
the rest, do not vex yourself over the present or 
the future. Give me the candle, and go to your 
husband. Good night, Frau Professorin.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A SELECT public was assembled; dignitaries 
of the goverument and city, and men of learning, 
and students, were constantly streaming back- 
wards and forwards through the doors of the 
great entrance. The wives of the Professors sat 
up in the gallery : Use was in the place of 
honour, in the middle of the front row, with 
Laura. This was a great day for Use, for the 
splendour of the highest academical dignity 
shone upon her husband. Felix Werner had 
been chosen to be Rector Maguificus, and was 
now to enter upon his office. 

The teachers of the University walked iu long 
procession into the Hall ; before them went the 
proctors’ beadles in their antique dress of office, 
carrying great maces in their hands ; the gentle- 
men themselves walked in the order of their 
several faculties. Theology began the procession, 
and Philosophy closed it ; the latter, from the 
number and importance of its members, was the 
strongest division ; altogether they formed a 
stately community; by the side of some non- 
entities went men of the highest repute, of 
whom the country might well be proud ; and it 
was a pleasure to every one to see so nnfbh 
learning assembled. These great minds, how- 
ever, did not make a very dignified appearance 
in the procession : they kept their ranks badly ; 
many looked as if they were thinking more ot 
their books than of the impression made by their 
appearance on the public ; one had come behind 
time — it was Raschke — he entered carelessly, 
running behind the junioi-s and nodding fa- 
miliarly to his acquaintances. The procession was 
received 1 y the Academical Choir with a Latin 
song, solemn, but not comprehensible. The- Pro- 
fessors ranged themselves on their seats ; the 
ex-Rector mounted the high lecturer’s chair, 
which was decked with flowers ; he first made a 
learned speech upon the benefits which medical 
science had long ago derived from the wander- 
ing tribes of Arabia, and then gave an account 
of the academical events of the last year. The 
discourse was fine, and all went off very 
solemnly ; the honourable guests from the city 
and government sat immovable ; the Professors 
listened attentively, the students rattled only a 
little at the door ; and if sometimes from the 
painted ceiling of Aula weariness waved its great 
bat-wings before the eyes of the students, as is 
inevitable at academical ceremonies. Use to-day 
did not remark it. When Maguificus had ended 
his discourse, with a graceful wave of his hand 
and some complimentary words, he begged of his 


successor to ascend to the < levated post. Use 
coloured as her Felix stepped into the lecturer’s 
chair. The Rector took off nis cap and the 
golden chain and mantle, which looked like an 
old regal mantle, and put them all upon his 
successor, with warm wishes and expressions of 
esteem. Laura whispered to her neighbours : 

“ [f our Professor had a sword at his side he 
would look like one of the Electors in the 
pictures up there.” Use gave a gp’atified no; it 
was precisely what she thought. Now Werner 
came forward with his scarlet mantle and 
chain. The beadles crossed their maces on both 
sides of the chair, and the new Rector majesti- 
cally began an address to the Professors and 
students, in which he bogged for their favour 
and pi’omised good government. Again the 
Academical Choir began a Latin song of 
triumph, and the procession of University 
teachers retired inio the neighbouring room, 
where the Professors surrounded their liector, 
shaking hands with him, and the beadles packed 
the scarlet mantle and chain in a chest, to be 
preserved for i’uture occasions. Use received 
the congratulations of the ladies and of the tea- 
party, who placed thonselves on the gallery 
steps and greeted her gaily as “ Magnifica.” 

As soon as she got home. Use threw her arms 
round her husband’s neck, and told him how 
stately he looked in his grand attire. “ Wliat 
the gipsy said,” she exclaimed, “ has been ful- 
filleti to-day : the man whom I love has worn a 
prince’s dress ; I greet you, my I riuce and 
Lord.” 

It was on the afternoon of this gi-eat day that 
the visit of the Hereditary Prince was to take 
place. Use looked once more into every corner 
of her bright dwelling, that she might experience 
no disgrace as mistress of the house, and made 
her husband instruct her as to the right form of 
speaking to an illustrious prince ; “ In order 
that I may know what to say if he addresses 
me. I am disquieted, Felix, for it is a great 
thing to learn to know the future Sovereign of 
one’s country.” 

As the clock struck, the carriage drove up. 
Gabriel, iu his best coat, introduced the gentle- 
men into the Rector’s room. Meanwhile Use 
walked up and down, burning with expectation. 

It was not long before her door was opened, and 
two gentlemen entered, introduced by her hus- 
band. The Prince was of a slight figure, under 
the middle height, black hair, with small face 
and features ; over the delicate lips there was a 
dark line, which showed the beginning of a 
moustache ; his gait was slouching and embar- 
rassed, and he gave one the impression of being 
a delicate and weak young man. He seemed 
confused when he approached Use, and he told 
her, in so low a tone that she could scarcely [ 
make out his words, how much he rejoiced in 
meeting with a countrywoman. 

His shy manner gave Use courage ; she was 
touched by the countenance of her young Prince, 
and accosted him ; “ VVe in our country cling 
to our home, and as I have now the opportuuitv 
of making your Highness’s acquaintance, I veii- 
ture to say that I remember your Highness. 
You were quite a young gentleman, and I was 
only a half-grown up muideu when I saw you 
first in your father’s capital. 'Your Highness 


115 


THE BUTTER MACHINE. 


sitting on a very small horse ; whilst my 
father and I made our obeisances, the horse 
stood still and would not go on. You looked 
kiudly at me, just as you do now. I had a 
couple of roses in my hand, and, as you were 
our young Prince, I offered them to you. But 
you shook your head, and could not take them, 
as you had to hold the bridle, and I believe you 
were a little timid about your horse : but the 
liorse poked its head at the ‘flowers. Then a tall 
man in uniform rode up and laid hold of the 
horse, and we retreated. You see I remember 
it all, for it was an important thing for a country 
maiden to bear in mind. — But will your High- 
ness do me the honour to take a seat V* 

The Prince’s attendant, the Chamberlain von 
Weidegg, addressed Use courteously ; he was a 
man of middle age, tall, of good address, and 
not a bad face ; he took the lead in the conver- 
sation, and spoke pleasantly of the hills and 
woods of their mutual country; it was an 
agreeable interchange of words on common sub- 
jects. The Prince was silent, played with his 
eye-glass, and looked cautiously and wonderingly 
at the stately wife of the Professor, who was 
sitting opposite him. At last the Chamberlain 
inquired at what hour Use received strangers, 
and expressed a wish that the Prince and he 
I might be allowed occasionally to visit her. “ On 
I account of the few persons with whom my illus- 
! trious Prince can associate in this city, a house 

I in which he may expect not to be treated as a 

stranger will be particularly acceptable to him.” 
This was very pleasant and courteous, and when 
the Professor had ‘accompanied the strangei’s to 
the entrance, he said to his wife, “ 1 think they 
seem to be very amiable.” 

“ I had imagined my Prince to be quite 
different, Felix, bold and haughty ; but he has 
not even a star on his breast.” 

“ It must have been in his pocket,” said the 
Professor, consolingly. 

“ But he looks a good youth,” concluded Use, 
f K “ and, as he is my countryman, he shall be well 
ir- treated.” 

ny, ; “ That is right,” replied the Professor, laugh- 
^ B ing. 

In a short time the Hereditary Prince and 
^ his Chamberlain found out that this good treat- 
Et ment was very pleasant. The Chamberlain 
* * proved himself an agreeable man ; he had 
travelled much, had experience of all sorts, had 
I w seen much, and read a good deal on various 
f i subjects ; he collected autographs, had no vices 
and no bad habits. During a long sojourn in 
Home he had been intimate with old acqua'in- 
tances of the Professor, he had wandered through 
the ruins of Pompeii, and showed a warm 
interest in the details of old Roman houses. 
■ -I- Besides this he understood how to listen and 
how to ask questions, and could, with decorum, 
tell doubtful anecdotes of people of note. His 
conversation was agreeable to the Professor, he 
was welcome at Use’s tea-table, and liked by 
her guests. It seemed also to give him pleasure 
to converse with the learned men ; he visited 
the Doctor and examined his old wood-cuts; he 
treated Professor Raschke with considerate 
politeness, and, with his Prince, accompanied 
the Philosopher on a fine winter evening to his 
distant dwelling, and during the walk Raschke 


imparted to them very interesting observations 
upon plants. 

It cannot be said that the Hereditary Prince 
was much at home among the Professors ; he 
listened with toleration to their conversation, as 
became an academical student, and said the 
right thing at the right time ; but he showed 
by an impatient jerk of his lorgnette that he 
would much have preferred any other kind of 
entertainment. 

Use was not pleased when he fidgeted with his 
glass, for she wished that he should behave 
himself with dignity among other men, and she 
seemed to feel as if tlie genth^men would 
reproach her because the Prince took no real 
interest in serious subjects. She showed him 
tender attentions as mistress of the house ; she 
ventured to advise him not to drink his tea too 
strong, and prepared it for him herself. Tlie 
Prince was pleased with this, liked to sit by her, 
and looked kindly at her. It was only witn her 
that he ever lost his cautious reserve ; he talked 
to her of the remarkable things he had seen in 
the town, and when he had nothing to say, he 
assisted her in her office ; he placed the cream- 
jug before her, and sought out the sugar-basin 
when he thought that llse was in want of it. 

Once when he was sitting silently by her, and 
the gentlemen were passing indignant judgment 
on the management of the Vuticau Library, 
Use proposed to him to look over a work that 
her husband had bought, containing good 
portraits of famous men of learning and artists. 
They went to examine it by a lamp in the 
next room, and the Prince looked tit the por- 
traits with languid interest. “Of many of 
them I only know,” begun Use, “ what my 
husband has told me; 1 have not read their 
books, and of the beautiful works they have 
painted 1 know little.” 

“ It is just the same with me,” replied the 
Prince, honestly, “ it is only about music that I 
know anything.” 

“ Yet it is a pleasure to look at the portraits,” 
continued Use; “one judges by them what the 
character and merits of these men may have 
been, and when one asks any person who knows 
more, one finds one’s views sometimes confirmed 
and sometimes erroneous. That seems to make 
one like the men and become intimate with 
them, and one seeks for opportunities of making 
acquaintance with their works of art and learn- 
ing. I long to. know more about them. But 
when one has read about a great man, and after 
a time sees his picture, then his face appears 
like that of a dear friend.” 

“ Do you like reading ? ” asked the Prince, 
looking up. 

“ 1 am beginning to like it,” replied Use ; 
“but unlearned heads do not take in serious 
things at once, especially when they excite 
earnest thoughts.” 

“ 1 do not like reading,” replied the Prince ; 
“ at least, in the way in which it is pressed 
upon me. It is tedious to me, for I have never 
learned anything in a regular way, and 1 know 
nothing well.” 

He said this with bitterness. Use was shocked 
at the confession. “Your Highness will find 
assistance now ; you will have a good oppor- 
tunity here.” 



116 


THE LOST MANUSCEII^. 


“ Yes,” replied the Prince, “ from morning to 
evening, and one thing after another. I am 
always glad when the lessons come to an end.” 

Use regarded the young Prince with great 
sorrow. “That is a real misfortune for your 
Highness. Is there nothing that you would 
care to know or possess ? no collection of stones 
or butterflies, or of rare books or engravings, 
like the Doctor over there ? . In this way one 
can find enjoyment the whole year, and while 
collecting these valuable things one learns a 
great deal.” 

“ If I wish to have anything of the kind I 
can have any quantity of them collected,^' 
replied the Prince ; “ but to what end ? I have 
already so many things about me. If I were to 
express a wish to collect stones, everybody 
about me would be in a state of excitement, and 
it would either be forbidden or I should have a 
whole collection brought into the house.” 

“ That indeed is of no use,” said Use, pity- 
ingly j “ the only pleasure is in looking after 
each individual thing one’s self; no man can 
know all, but everyone should have something 
which he understands thoroughly. If I may 
venture to compare my insignificant life with 
the important one that awaits your Highness, I 
should like to tell you my own experience. 
When my good mother was laid on her death- 
bed I was quite a young girl, but I wished to 
take her place in the household. I found, 
however, that I was quite at a loss what to do. 

I did not even know whether the people were 
industrious or lazy ; I did not understand the 
way of doing anything, and if it was done badly 
I could not teach them better. One evening I 
sat dispirited and angry with myself, and I 
believe I wept. Then my good father said, 

* You should not undertake so much at once, 
you should learn some one thing first ac- 
curately.’ Then he took me into the dairy. 
Does your Highness know what that is ? ” 

“ Not exactly,” replied the Prince. 

She then explained to him the whole day’s work 
of the dairy. “ This was the result : I took it in 
hand myself, learnt the work thoroughly, and 
thus was able to form a judgment with respect 
to the maids. I learnt everything about the 
cows accurately, and which was the best kind 
for us, and why; for every species does not 
thrive everywhere. I soon became ambitious of 
making good butter and cheese. I obtained in- 
formation from those who were skilled in it, and 
sometimes read a book about it. Then I con- 
ferred with my father about improvements, and 
just when I came away it was a question of our 
getting a new machine, instead our gi-eat wooden 
churn. It is now ordered ; it is said to be very 
good, and likely to make good butter; but I 
have not seen it. Does your Highness know 
about churning ?” 

“ No,” replied the Prince. 

Use described it to him as far as she could, 
and continued : •* When my father made up his 
books at midsummer, it was my pride that the 
dairy produce should every year increase in 
amount; but I was provoked that my father 
laughed at my small profits, as he valued the 
cows for other reasons.” Use gave a slight ex- 
planation on this point, and then continued: 
“ From this time, yo\u* Highness, I felt quite at 


home in the world. Now, if I go to a manufac- 
tory, I find myself looking upon it as another 
kind of dairy, and when state revenues and 
government expenditure are talked of, I com- 
pare them with our house and farming accounts. 
But it is very silly in me to talk to your High- 
ness about butter and cheese.” 

The Prince looked at her confidingly. “Ah 
kind lady,” he said, “ yours has been a happy 
life; I have never been so fortunate as to be 
able to enjoy quietly what I like. From morn- 
ing to evening I have been in leading-strings, 
and passed on from one person to another. 
When, as a child, I went into the garden, the 
governess or tutor was always there, and when I 
ran or jumped about on the grass, I was to do it 
in a becoming manner ; once, when I wished to 
turn head-over-heels, like other boys, it excited 
the utmost dismay, on account of its indecorum. 
Every moment it was said, ‘that was not be- 
fitting a Prince,’ or, ‘ this is not a proper time.’ 
When I came out of my room 1 was stared at by 
strangers, and had always to observe and bow to 
them ; I was told with whom I was or was not 
to shake hands, and who I was or was not to ac- 
cost. Every day passed thus. One was always 
to use empty forms of speech in three languages, 
aud every day the uppermost thought was, 
whether one had demeaned one’s self well. 
Once I and my sister wished to lay out a little 
garden ; immediately the head gardener was 
called to dig and plant for us, thus all our plea- 
sure was spoilt. Then we wished to act a little 
play, and had thought of a nice piece; again we 
Avere told that it was foolish trash, and that we 
must learn a play by heart, with French modes 
of speech, in which the children always ex- 
claimed how dearly they loved papa and mam- 
ma, whilst we had no mother. In this training 
for mere show my childhood passed. I assure you 
I know nothing thoroughly, and if I remain 
here eternally learning, I feel that it will do me 
no good, and I shall enter the world a very use- 
less being.” 

“ Ah, that is sad,” exclaimed Use, with deep 
sympathy ; “ but I entreat of your Highness not 
to lose courage. It is impossible that the life 
here, among so many men of the highest ca- 
pacity and worth, should not be beneficial to 
you.” 

The Prince shook his head. 

“ Think what a future lies before your High- 
ness,” continued Use, softly. “ Ah, you have 
every reason to be brave and confident. Your 
otfice is the highest on earth. We others work, 
and are happy if we can only preserve one 
human being from evil ; but you Avill have the 
welfare and lives of thousands in your power. 
What you do for schools and learning through 
the selection of good or bad teachers, and your 
decisions as to peace or war, may ruin or make 
the whole country happy. When I think of this 
exalted vocation, I feel a deep respect for you, 
and I would implore you on my knees to do 
your utmost to make yourself a worthy prince. 
Therefore, the best advice for you is, that you 
should be willing to learn even what is weari- 
some to you. For the rest, have confidence in 
the future : you Avill yet haA'e pleasm’e in life, 
and a feeling of worth and capacity.” 

The Pi’ince was silent ; for any allusion to hi. 


THE BUTTER MACHINE. 


117 


future position as Sovereign would be scouted 
at Court, and least of all would the heir to 
the throne be allowed to indulgre in such a 
thought. 

‘‘1 hear enough of learned lectures,” said the 
Prince, at last; “ I would rather be instructed 
by a country gentleman, as you have been.” 

Ihey returned to the gentlemen, and the 
Prince paid much attention to their conversa- 
tion during the rest of the evening. When he 
went away. Use said to her husband : “ There is 
one who has what would make thousands happy, 
yet he is unhappy, for they have bound up his 
honest heart in leather like an automaton. Oh, 
be kind to him, Felix; open your soul to him, 
that he may gain some of your confidence and 
power.” 

Her husband kissed her, and said, “ It will be 
easier for you than for me. But he has himself 
hit upon the right thing : three years with your 
father would be the best training for him and 
his country.” 

At breakfast the following morning the Cham- 
berlain took the newspapers from the hand of 
the lackey ; the Prince was sitting silently at 
table, playing with the coftee spoon, and watch- 
ing a fly which was trying disrespectfully to 
make its way from the edge of the cream-jug 
into the princely cream. As the written in- 
structions imposed upon the Chamberlain the 
duty of guarding the Prince from all dangerous 
reading — by that was meant all discontented 
newspapers and improper novels — he thought it 
best, under all the circumstances, to give him 
the inoffensive “ Daily Gazette,” whilst he him- 
self took up a well-disposed paper, in order to 
examine the court news and accounts of pro- 
motions and the bestowal of decorations. He 
had long finished his reading, but the Prince 
was still studying the reports concerning shell- 
fish and oysters. The Chamberlain observed 
with regret how little interest his young High- 
ness took in the course of the world. An ac- 
quaintance of the Chamberlain had been promoted 
to be master of the horse, another announced his 
marriage, and he did not fail to draw the atten- 
tion of the Prince to this news; but he only 
smiled in his absent way. 

The Chamberlain then entered upon his next 
duty ; he reflected upon the programme of the 
day. As it was incumbent upon him to make 
the Prince acquainted with a choice selection of 
the novelties in art and literature in the city, he 
waited impatiently till the Prince had done with 
the “ Daily Gazette,” in order to obtain in- 
fonnation from it on these points. At last the 
Prince interrupted his cogitations by saying to 
him, “There is here mention of a permanent 
exhibition of agricultural instruments ; what is 
there to see in such exhibitions ?” 

The Chamberlain tried to explain, and was 
delighted to make a proposal to visit this exhi- ' 
bition. The Prince expressed his assent by a i 
slight nod, looked at his watch, and went up to ' 
his room to go through his three hours’ morning i 
course : one for the science of politics, one for < 
mythology and msthetics, and one for tactics and ’ 
strategy ; th 3 u he accompanied his attendant to ] 
the exhibition. Even the Chamberlain was bored . 
as he went behind his young master through the i 
great rooms, in wLdcli inexplicable machines i 


I atood in countless confusion. Tlie agent of the 
I faetory began his explanations ; the Chamber- 
L lain asked such questions as Avould show a 
fitting love of knowledge; the Prince went 
! patiently from one unintelligible object to an- 
other, and heard something of ploughs, scari- 
fiers, and rollers. At last, at the great threshing- 
I machine, the expounder had to call a workman 
to bring some steps, by tiscending which they 
would be enabled to admire the internal me- 
chanism. The Prince left this labour to the 
Chamberlain ; played meanwhile with his lorg- 
nette, and asked the agent, in the low tone in 
which he was wont to speak : 

“ Have you any butter-machines ?” 

“ Yes,” was the reply, “ many of different 
construction.” 

The Prince then quietly turned his attention 
to the great threshing-maehine, and learnt to 
value the beautiful arrangement by which it 
threw out the straw into an invisible hayloft. 
■At last they came to the row' of machines on 
w’hich he had set his heart — the modern suc- 
cessors of the old time-honoured churn. There 
they stood beside each other — the little hand- 
churn, by which, if the assertion of the guide 
was to be trusted, a housewife could make her 
butter in an incredibly short time; and the 
great machine, which could work sufficient to 
supply the needs of the largest dairy. It w'as 
described to the Prince how the cream, when 
poured in, w'as put in quick circular motion, and 
how' by this excitement the butter w'as com- 
pelled to separate itself from the milk. He had 
already heard this much more agreeably told ; 
but it gave him pleasure to see the advantages 
of the modern invention, and he became tho- 
roughly convinced of its superiority. He asked 
questions, to the astonishment of his attendant, 
and laid hold of the crooked handle, endeavour- 
ing to turn it a little, but withdrew his hand 
with an embarrassed smile. At last he inquired 
about the price. The Chamberlain had rejoiced 
at the becoming desire of knowledge which his 
young master had shown, but was much humi- 
liated w’hen the Prince turned to him and said, 
in French, “ Wliat do you think ? I have a 
mind to buy this little machine.” “ For the 
sake of turning it,” thought the Chamberlain, 
with an inward shrug of the shoulders. 

“How is it that your Highness takes an in- 
terest in this ? ” 

“ It pleases me,” replied the Prince, “ and 1 
must buy something of the man.” 

The humble invention w'as bought, carried to 
the Prince’s apartments, and placed in his study. 
Towards evening, whilst the Prince was taking 
his music lessons on the pianoforte, the machine 
had to appear in the report w'hich the Chamber- 
lain prepared for the reigning Prince. The 
writer extolled the interest which his Prince 
had shown in this useful instrument of German 
agriculture. But seldom had it been so difficult 
to the poor Chamberlain to perform the duty of 
a true courtier, whom it behoves to suppress his 
own personal feelings and to gloss over a^eeably 
what is annoying; for, in truth, he felt deep 
humiliation at the silly trifling of his Prince. 
But one does not at Court learn thoroughly all 
the intricacies of a princely mind, however 
much one may study them. Even to the wisf'st 


118 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


chamberlain there remain certain inscrutable 
depths. 

The Hereditary Prince covered the butter- 
machine with a silk handkerchief, and when he 
was alone, approached it cautiously, turned the 
handle, and examined the mechanism. 

Some days after, when the valet had un- 
dressed the Prince, placed his slippers for him, 
and made his bow for the night, the little unclad 
Prince, contrary to custom, remained sitting on 
his chair, and stopped the departure of the 
servant by thus accosting him : “ Kruger, you 
must do me a favour.” 

“ What are your Highness’s commands ?” 

“Obtain for me to-morrow morning early, 
without any one seeing you, a great can of milk ; 
but do not put the milk in the account.” 

“ Does your Highness wish it boiled or not 
boiled?” 

This was a difficult question. The Prince 
twirled his moustache silently and looked help- 
lessly at his Kriigcr. 

“ I know not,” he at last began. “ I should 
like for once to try to churn.” 

Kruger was sharp enough to understand that 
this wish was connected with the new machine, 
and, long accustomed not to be astonished at 
anything in exalted personages, he replied : 
“ Then the machine must tirst be scalded, 
otherwise the butter will taste bad; and, be- 
sides, I must order the cream ; so your Highness 
must wait patiently for a day.” 

“ I leave everything to you,” said the Prince, 
well pleased ; “ take the machine, and be careful 
that no one learns anything about it.” 

When Kiaiger, two days after, entered the 
Prince’s room, early in the morning, he found 
his young master already dressed. Proud of his 
confidential position, he informed him, “ The 
Chamberlain is still asleep, and all is ready.” 

The Prince hastened on tip-toes into the 
room. A large can of cream was poured into the 
machine ; full of expectation, the Prince seated 
himself by the table, and said ; “ I will turn it 
myself.” He began to turn, and Kruger 
looked on. 

“ But it must be done with regularity, your 
Highness,” admonished Kruger. 

Tlie Prince could not resist opening the cover 
and looking in. “ It will not come, Kriiger,” 
he said, despondingly. 

“ Cheer up, your Highness,” said Kriiger, 
“and graciously permit me to go on with the 
turning.” 

After that Kriiger turned, the. Prince looked 
on. 

“ It comes,” cried the Prince, delighted, as he 
looked in. • 

“Yes, it is made,” replied Kruger. “But 
now comes other work. The butter must be 
taken out and washed, if it please your High- 
ness ?” 

“ No,” said the Prince, doubtfully, “ that will 
not do. But the machine is good ; bring me a 
spoon and some white bread, 1 will fish out what 
I can ; one must learn to help one’s self.” The 
Prince plunged his spoon into the mess, took 
out some of the half-made butter, and spread it 
on his white bread with a feeling of satisfaction 
that was quite new to him. “ It tastes sour, 
Kruger,” he said. 


“It cannot be otherwise,” replied Kriiger; 
“ the butter-milk is still in it.” 

“ It does not signify,” said the Prince, con- 
soling himself. “ Kruger, I did not think there 
was so much to be attended to in churning.” 

“Yes, all things are difficult in the begin- 
ning,” replied Kruger, cheeringly. 

“ It is all right,” concluded the Prince, gi-a- 
ciously ; “ take the machine ont, and clean it 
properly.” 

After that the churn stood peacefully under a 
silk handkerchief; the Prince, in solitary hours, 
placed himself sometimes before it, and revolved 
in his mind how he could deliver it into the 
hands of the person for whom he had secretly 
destined it. 

The stars themselves appeared to favour him ; 
for the revolving earth had rolled into the last 
sign of the zodiac, which guides the souls of our 
people with magic power to the most charming 
feast of the year. Christmas was near, and the 
female world of the street near the Park moved 
about in secret activity. Intercourse with inti- 
mate acquaintances was interrupted, books that 
had been begun were set aside, theatres and 
concert-rooms were empty ; the tones of the 
pianoforte and the new bravuras sounded rarely 
to the rattling carriages in the street ; inward 
struggles were hushed, and bad neighbours little 
thought of. From morning to evening, little 
fingers were occupied with beads, wools, silk, 
paint-brush and palette ; the day expanded into 
eight-and-forty hours ; even during the minutes 
of unquiet morning slumber, obliging crickets 
and other invisible spirits worked in the pay of 
the ladies. The nearer the festival approached, 
the more numerous were the secrets : in every 
chest were concealed things which no one was 
to see ; from all sides, packages were brought 
into the house, which were forbidden to be 
touched. But whilst the other inmates of the 
house secretly slipped past one another, the lady 
of the house was the quiet ruler in the invisible 
realm of presents, and the confidant and clever 
adviser of all. She was never weary ; she 
thought and arranged for every one ; the world 
had become to her like a gi’eat cupboard with 
numerous compartments, from which she was 
incessantly fetching things, and in which she 
stowed cautiously covered packages. When on 
Christmas Eve the spangled stars shone, the 
wax-lights dripped, and the golden balls glim- 
mered on the Christmas-tree, the fancies of the 
children were excited by their great day ; but 
the poetic vision of the housewife and her 
daughters had for months before filled the room 
with joyful splendour. 

If one may consider the judgment of Herr 
Hummel as valid, it is rarely that the enthusiasm 
of this week is fully developed in the men who 
have the honour of being the representatives of 
the family. “ Believe me, Gabriel,” said Herr 
Hummel, one December evening, as he was 
watching some childi-en who were passing by 
with humming devils, “ at this time man loses 
his importance ; he is nothing but a money- 
chest, in which the key is turning from morning 
to evening ; the best wives become barefaced 
and fantastic, all family confidence vanishes, 
one passes shyly by the other, the regularity of 
the house is trampled unon. one’s nip-lit’s rest is 


V 


THE BUTTER MACHINE. 


119 


itiscrupulous’y destroyed ; when it is meal time, 
one’s wife runs to the market, and when the 
lamps ought to be extinguished, one’s daughter 
begins a new piece of embroidery. AVhen at 
last the long bother is over, then one is to be 
delighted with a pair of new slippers which are 
an inch too short, and for which one has later to 
pay a long shoemaker’s bill, and to be pleased 
with a cigar-case of beads, which is flat and 
hard, like a dried flounder. Finally, after one 
has emitted golden sparks like a rocket, ladies 
expect one to show one’s good feeling by making 
them a present. Now, I have trained mine up 
otherwise.” 


“ But I have seen you yourself,” rejoined 
Gabriel, “ with a package and bandbox under 
your arm.” 

“That is true,” replied Herr Hummel, “a 
bandbox in inevitable. But, Gabriel, I have 
given up all trouble; for that wai®: the most 
humiliating part of the history. I go every 
year to the same milliner, and say, * A cap for 
Madame Hummel ;’ and the person says, ‘ You 
shall be served, Herr Hummel ;’ and the archi- 
tecture stands before me ready prepared. Be- 
sides this, I go every year to the same shop and 
say, ‘ I v'ant a dress for my daughter Laura, at 
such-and-such a price, more or less,’ and a dress 
well worth its value is placed before me. In 
confidence I will tell you that I have a suspicion 
that the women have seen through ‘my trick, 
and have looked out the things themselves 
beforehand, for they arc always now very much 
to their taste, whilst in former years they were 
often objected to. Now they take the trouble 
to select the finery, and in the evening they are 
as hypocritical as cats, unfold and examine them, 
pretend to be astonished, and praise my dis- 
tinguished taste. This is my only satisfaction 
in the whole childish amusement. But it is a 
poor one, Gabriel.” 

Thus discordant was the prose of the master 
of the house ; but the dwellers in the Park-street 
cared little for it, and they looked upon such 
opinions always with due contempt: so much 
sweeter is it to care for others than for oneself, 
t and so much happier to give pleasure than to 
V receive it. 

For Use also the festival this year was a great 
opportunity ; she collected like a bee, and not 
only for the dear ones at home ; for in the city 
also she had nestled many great and little 
children in her heart, from the five young 
Raschkes down to the little barefooted creatures 
with the soup pots. With her also the corner of 
the sofa became mysterious to her husband, to 
Laura, and the Doctor, if they entered unex- 
pectedly. 

When the Chamberlain, some time before the 
festival, deemed it becoming for his Prince to pay 
a visit to the new Rector, the gentlemen found 
Use and Laura busily at work, and the parlour 
of the Rector’s wife was changed into a great 
market-stall. On a long table stood little 
Christmas-trees, and full sacks were leaning 
against the legs of the table ; the ladies were 
working with yard-measures and scissors, divid- 
ing great hanks of wool, and unrolling pieces of 
linen, like shop people. When Use met the 
gentlemen and made excuses for the state of 
hei’ room the Chamberlain entreated her not to 


disturb herself. “ We will only remain here if 
we are allowed to make ourselves useful.” The 
Prince also said, “ I beg permission to help, if 
you have anything for me to do.” 

“ That is friendly,” replied Use, “ for before 
evening there is still much to be done. Permit 
me, your Highness, to give you your work. 
Pray take the bag of nuts ; and you, my Lord 
Chamberlain, have the goodness to take the 
apples under your care; you, Felix, will have 
the gingerbread. I beg the gentlemen to make 
little heaps, to each twenty nuts, six apples, aud 
a packet of gingerbread.” 

The gentlemen went zealously to work. The 
Prince counted the nuts conscientiously, and 
was provoked- that they would always roll 
together again, but discovered that he could 
keep the portions apart by means of strips of 
paper folded together. The gentlemen laughed, 
and related how they had once, in a foreign 
country, introduced this German Christmas 
amusement. The perfume of the apples and of 
the fir-trees filled the room, and gave a festive 
feeling to the souls of all present. 

“ May we ask the kind lady who are to benefit 
by our exertions?” said the Chamberlain ; “I 
hold here an uncommonly large apple, which I 
hope may fall to the lot of one of your 
favourites. At all events, we are doing what 
will give the poor children pleasure.” 

“ To these, certainly,” replied Use ; “ but 
that is not all ; we are giving also to their 
mothers, for the greatest pleasure of a mother is 
to give presents herself to her children, to adorn 
the Christmas-tree and to work what the little 
ones need. This pleasure we shall not depx’ive 
them of, and therefore we send them the stuff 
unmade. The Christmas-trees, too, they prefer 
buying themselves, each according to their 
tastes ; those you see here are only for children 
who have no mothers. These trees will bo 
adorned by us. Everything for the festive 
evening will be carried out of the house to-day, 
so that the people may receive them in gocKl 
time, aud arrange them for themselves.” 

The Prince looked at the Chamberlain. 
*‘Will you allow us,” he began, hesitatingly, 
“ to buy something for a Christmas-box ? ” 

“ Very willingly, ’ replied Use, joyfully. “ If 
your Highness wishes it, our servant can look 
after it immediately. He understands it, and 
is trustworthy.” 

“ I should like to go with him myself,” said 
the Pi-ince. The Chamberlain listened with 
astonishment to this idea of his young master ; 
but, as it was laudable and not against instruc- 
tions, he only smiled respectfully. Gabriel was 
called. Tlie Prince, much pleased, seized his 
hat. “ What shall we buy ? ” he asked eagerly. 

“ We want some little tapers,” replied Use, 
“ besides some playthings — for the boys, leaden 
soldiers ; and for the little girls, little kitchen 
things; but all for ready money and cheap.” 
Gabriel followed the Prince out of the house 
with a large basket. 

“ You heard what the excellent lady ordered,” 
said the Prince, in the street, to Gabriel. 
“ First the wax-tapers ; you look out for them, 
and I will pay. We are to buy them cheap ; 
see that we are not cheated.” 

“ We need not fear that, your Highness,** 


120 


THE LOST MANUSCRIFL 


replied Gabriel ; and if we should pay a few 
pennies too much, it will be for the advantage 
of other children.’* 

At the end of an hour the Prince returned. 
Gabriel had a heavily-laden basket, and the 
Prince also carried under his arms toys and 
large cornets with sweetmeats. When the 
young gentleman entered thus loaded, with 
colour in his cheeks and as happy as a child, he 
looked so good and pleasing that all were 
delighted with him. He actively unpacked his 
treasures before the Professor’s wife, and shook 
out the sugar-plums on the table. 

His embarrassment had disappeared : he 
played with childish pleasure with the pretty 
things, showed the others the artistic work in 
the march-pane plums, begged of Laura to keep 
a knight-templar of sugar for herself, and moved 
about and arranged everything so gracefully and 
actively on the table that all looked at him with 
admiration and joined in his childish jokes. 
When the ladies began to adorn the fir-trees the 
Prince declared he M'ould help them. He placed 
himself before the saucer with white of egg, and 
was sho^vn the way to lay it upon the fruits and then 
roll them in gold and silver leaves. Use arranged 
as a prize for a gentleman who worked best and 
did most, a large gingerbread lady with a hooped 
petticoat and glass eyesj and a praiseworthy 
emulation arose among the gentlemen to pro- 
duce the best things. The Professor and the 
Chamberlain knew ho>v to employ their old skill ; 
but the Prince worked as a novice somewhat 
irregularly, — there remained some bare spots, 
and in others the gold bulged out. He was dis- 
contented with himself, but Use cheered him, 
saying, “But your Highness must be more spar- 
ing with the gold, otherwise we shall not have 
enough.” Finally, the Chamberlain obtained the 
lady in the hooped dress, and the Prince, as an 
extra reward for his activity, a babe in swad- 
dling-clothes which looked on the world with 
two glassy bead eyes. 

Out of doors in the Chi-istmas market, little 
children w^ere standing round the fir-trees and 
Christmas shops, and looking hopefully and 
longingly at the treasures there. And in Use’s 
room the great childi-en were sitting at the table, 
playful and happy. Here there were no cautious 
admonitions, and the Prince painted the outlines 
of a face with the white of egg on the palm of 
his hand, and gilded it with a gold-leaf. 

When the Hereditary Prince rose to go, the 
Professor asked, “ May I venture to inquire 
where your Highqess intends to pass Christmas 
E ve ?” 

“ We remain here,” cried the Prince. 

“ As some remarkable musical performances 
are in prospect,” added the Chamberlain, “ his 
princely Highness has denied himself the plea- 
sure of having the Prince with him at this festi- 
val ; we are therefore to pass a quiet Christmas 
here.” 

“ We do not venture to invite you,” continued 
the Professor ; “ but in case your Highness should 
not pass this evening in other sociey, it will be 
too great a pleasure if you would do so with us.” 

Use looked thankfully at her husband, and 
the Prince this time did not leave it to the 
Chamberlain to answer, but eagerly accepted 
the invitation. As he walked with his attendant 


through the crowded streets, he began, cau- 
tiously, “ But we must contribute something to 
the Christmas table.” 

“I had just thought of that,” replied the 
Chamberlain; “but if your Highness honours 
those worthy people with your company that 
evening, I am not sure how your princely father 
will approve of a contribution to the Clmistmas- 
tree from my gracious Prince.” 

“ I do not wish it to be any of those eternal 
brooches and ear-rings from the court jewellei’s' 
cases,” cried the Prince, with unwonted energy ; 
“ it should be some trifie ; best of all, something 
as a joke.” 

“ That is my view,” assented the Chamber- 
lain ; “ but it is advisable to leave the decision 
to his Most Serene Highness at home.” 

“ Then I had rather remain at home,” replied 
the Prince, bitterly. “ I will not enter with 
some stupid present in my hand. Cannot it be 
managed for the visit to be quite without 
restraint, as the invitation was ? ” 

The Chamberlain shrugged his shoulders. 
“ A few days after the festival the whole city 
will know' that your Highness has shown Pro- 
fessor Werner this unusual honour. Without 
doubt the occurrence will be reported to the 
palace by persons who have no business to do so. 
Your Highness know's better than I do how the 
Prince will receive such an accoxmt, coming to 
him first from a stranger.” 

The Prince’s pleasure was spoilt. “Write, 
then, to my father,” he cried, angrily ; “ but re- 
present the invitation just as it was given, and 
express yourself against those princely presents : 
they would only wound this family.” 

The Chamberlain rejoiced in the tact of his 
young master, and promised to write the letter 
as he desired. This appeased the Prince, and 
after a time he began : “I have taken into con- 
sideration, Weidegg, what we should give. As 
the Professor’s wite comes from the country, I 
will present her with the machine w hich 1 lately 
bought, as a case for pretty bonbons or some- 
thing of that kind, that I will put in it.” 

“ Now he W'ishes to get rid of the useless play- 
thing,” thought the Chamberlain. “ That is 
impossible,” he replied, aloud ; “ your Highness 
is not quite sure w'hether the lady w’ould take 
the joke as it is intended. It would not do to 
give a present which might give rise to mis- 
interpretation. Your Highness should on no 
account venture upon such a thing. Even if 
the amiable lady herself did not object, it w'ould 
be much canvassed in her circle. Y'our High- 
ness’s joke might be easil}’ considered as an 
ironical allusion to her country manners, which 
undoubtedly become the lady well, but might 
here and there occasion a slight smile.” 

The Prince’s heart froze within him ; he w'as 
furious w'ith the Chamberlain, and, on the other 
hand, shocked at the thought of wounding 
Frau Use. The poetry of the festival w'as en- 
tirely destroyed for him. He went silently to 
his apai’tment. 

The answ'er to the Chamberlain’s letter w'as 
to the effect that the Prince, in spite of the in- 
conveniences that w'ere liable to arise from it, 
would not object to an incidental visit, and that, 
if some mark of attention was unavoidable, it 
might be procured from a gardener or cou« 


THREE CONCLAVES. 


121 


fectioner. The Chamberlain, therefore, bought 
a quantity of flowers and confitures, and laid 
them before the Prince. But he looked cold 
and silently on the gay bright colours. Two 
lackeys carried the things towards evening to 
the Rector with a little note from the Chamber- 
lain, in which, in the name of his Most Serene 
Prince, he begged the accompanying gift might 
be applied to the ornamenting of the Christmas- 
tree. Meanwhile the Prince stood gloomily 
before his agrifcultural machine, and quarrelled 
bitterly wdth his princely dignity. 

When at a fitting hour he entered Werner’s 
apartment, the Christmas gifts had been dis- 
pensed and the tree extinguished. Use had 
done it purposely. “ It is not necessary to let 
these foreign gentlemen see what delight we 
take in these presents.” The Prince received 
with reserv'e llse’s thanks for the splendid 
adornment of her table, and sat silent and 
absent before the tea-kettle. Use thought, “ He 
is sorry that he has had no glad Christmas Eve : 
the poorest child is merry with his Christmas- 
tree, and he sits as if shut out from the pleasures 
of this happy time.” She made a sign to Laura, 
and said to the Prince ; “ Will your Highness 
like to see our Christmas-tree ? The lights 
w'ere extinguished lest they should burn out, 
but if your Highness likes w'e will light it up 
again in all its splendour, and it w'ould be very 
kind of your Highness to help us.” 

This was a w'elcome proposal to the Prince, 
and he w^ent w'ith the ladies into the Christmas- 
room. There he offered to take the stick, at the 
end of which a w'ax-tapcr w^as fastened, in order 
to reach the highest lights of the mighty tree. 
Whilst he was thus busily w'orking at the tree 
his heart became lighter, and he looked wdth 
interest at the presents which w^ere lying under 
the tree. 

“ Now will your Highness have the kindness 
to go out of the room,” said Use, “ and when I 
ring it w’ill signify to you and Herr von Weidegg 
tliat your Highness is wanted.” 

The Prince hastened out; the bell rang. 
When the gentlemen entered they found two 
small tables laid out, on them small lighted 
trees, and under each a large dish of pastry, 
made after the fashion of their own country. 
“ This is to be a remembrance of our home,” 
said Use, and on the trees are the apples and 
nuts w'hich you have gilded: those with the 
red spots are your Highness’s work. Here is a 
respectful gift sent from the farm of my dear 
father. I beg these gentlemen to eat wdth a 
good appetite this smoked goose’s breast; we 
are not a little proud of this performance. But 
here, my gracious Prince, there is, as a recol- 
lection of me, a little model of our churn ; for 
this w^as, as a country child, my high school of 
learning, as I lately mentioned to your High- 
ness.” On the Prince’s seat stood this useful 
instrument, made of march-pane. “ On the board 
underneath, your Highness, I have written my 
adage of that time. May the illustrious gentle- 
men accept my good intentions ! ” 

She said this so joyously, and offered her hand 
to the Chamberlain so kindly, that all thoughts 
of his dignity w'ere forgotten, and he shook her 
hand right honestly. The Prince stood before 
his machine, and th(»ught : ” Now is the moment. 


or never.” He read below the simple words, 
“ If one will only take real trouble about some 
one thing, it will be a blessing for one’s w'hole 
life.” Then, without any thought of the 
threatening consequences of his daring, he said : 
“ May I propose an exchange to you ? I have 
bought a small churn ; it has a large ■wheel and 
a small one for turning, and one can make what 
one wants each morning. It would be a great 
pleasure to me if you w’ould accept this.” 

Hse thanked him with a bow ; and the Prince 
begged that a servant might be sent for it di- 
rectly to his apartment. Whilst the Chamber- 
lain was still reflecting with amazement on the 
strange coincidence, the piece of mechanism was 
brought into the room. The Prince placed it 
with his own hands upon a corner of the table, 
explained to the society the internal arrange- 
ments, and was much delighted when Use said 
she had confidence in the invention. He was 
again the joyous child of the other day, drank 
gaily his glass of wine, and proposed, with 
charming grace, the health of the master and 
mistress of the house; and the Chamberlain 
scarcely knew his Telemachus again. On taking 
leave, he himself packed up the march-pane, and 
carried it in his pocket home 


CHAPTER XXII. 

The year of the Rectorate had so changed 
the current of llse’s thoughts that she remarked 
with astonishmjent to her husband, “ I feel as if 
I had just come from school into the bustle of 
the -vv'orld.” Her Felix’s days were engrossed 
with distracting business : difficult transactions 
between the University and Government, and 
vexatious occurrences among the students, took 
up a great portion of his time. 

The evenings also did not pass as in the first 
year, when Use watched the quiet labours of her 
husband, or listened to his friends; for many 
were occupied by the sittings of the Senate, and 
others by large parties, which, as Rector, he 
could not avoid. When the friends came to tea, 
the master of the house u'as often absent. 

Use had taken her father’s lessons to heart ; 
she lived in the present, and avoided distracting 
thoughts. Her husband took pains to ward otf 
from her all that could disturb her repose of 
mind, and the intellectual diet which he now 
gave her did her good, ^\^len he saw her again 
in society in all her health and strength, with 
colour in her cheeks and a cheerful expression 
in her countenance, he felt it his duty to pre- 
serve this soul for ever from the intrusion of 
conflicting ideas; and he was pleased that, by 
frequent intercourse with various kinds of men, 
and by the light bonds of a genial society, she 
became at home in his circle. It delighted him, 
too, to find that her ingenuous nature was ap- 
preciated ; and she was not only treated with 
distinction by the men, but was a favourite also 
with the ladies. 

Use would not, however, allow her private 
conclave — as she called the hours during which 
she received her husband’s instructions — to be 
disturbed ; she adhered to it with rigid strict- 
ness; and if a day was missed, the lost time 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


il’2 

had to he made up on the following one. Hut 
even these lessons took a different course. The 
Professor now read to her small extracts from 
old writers, who pourtrayed, in prose and verse, 
the attractive beauty of the life of the ancients ; 
her innocent mind entered into the cheerful en- 
joyment of this foreign world, and the impres- 
sions which she received agreed perfectly wdth 
the way in which she now regulated her own 
life. The Professor explained to her some of 
the poems of Greek anthology and of Theocritus, 
and a few of the Roman lyrics ; and, by way ot 
comparison, he read to her the poems of the 
great German who, in a remarkable way, had 
been able to unite Greek beauty with the Ger- 
man feeling. 

At her great evening party. Use showed all 
the dignity of a Magnificence ; every room was 
opened ; the apartments were decorated and 
brilliantly lighted up ; the heads of the Univer- 
sity and city, with their wives, made their ap- 
pearance in numbers ; and the Prince and his 
Chamberlain did not fail to be there. Laura 
^assisted pleasingly to do the honours, and quietly 
gave directions to the strange servants ; cakes 
and wine were handed about ; the guests made 
themselves very agreeable, and separated in the 
highest s})irits.. The great evening had gone off 
happily ; the Doctor and Laura had left ; Use 
gave her last injunctions to Gabriel, and passed 
through the rooms once more, .with the glad 
feeling that she had done honour to Felix and 
herself. She came into her dressing-room, and 
cast a look at the glass. 

“ You need not examine yourself critically,” 
said the husband, “ everything was beautiful ; 
but the most beautiful of all was the Rector’s 
wife.” 

“ Damon, my shepherd,” replied Use, “ you 
are blinded. It is not the first time you have 
said this, but I like to hear it; you cannot say 
it too often. But, Felix,” she continued, as she 
unloosed her hair, “there is something rather 
solemn about such a society where men do 
nothing but talk. One docs not carry away 
much of it, but still there is a pleasure in being 
among them ; they are all so courteous and 
endeavour to appear to the best advantage, and 
each tries to outdo the other.” 

“ They do not all on such occasions give a fair 
idea of what they are, least of all we book- 
worms,” replied Felix. “ But these societies 
give to persons who live in the same circle a 
certain similarity of language and manner, and, 
finally, of ideas. This is very necessary, for 
even those who live together often differ as 
much in their thoughts and feelings as if they 
had been born in different centuries. How do 
you like the Chamberlain ?” 

Use shook her head. “ He is the most cour- 
teous and lively of all, and knows how to say some- 
thing civil to every one ; but one cannot trust 
him, for, as with an eel, one has no hold on him, 
and can never for a moment see into his heart. 
I prefer our Prince with his stiff manner. He 
talked to me to-day about his sister ; she must 
be very clever and charming. To which of 
your centuries does he belong ?” 

“ To the middle of the last,” replied her hus- 
band, laughing ; “ he is a good century earlier 
than we arc, of the time when men were divided 


into two classes, — those who were fit to be re- 
ceived at Court, and serfs. But if you examine 
those about us, you will perceive how great the 
difference is between them. There is our Gabriel, 
who in his prejudices and his poetry is three 
centuries before the present. His ways of think- 
ing remind one of the time in which the great 
Reformers first led our people to think. On the 
other hand, the hostile neighbours are, in many 
points of view, the representatives of two op- 
posing tendencies which ran parallel to each 
other towards the end of tlie last century, — in 
our house, obstinate rationalism ; in the old man 
over the way, a weak sentimentality.” 

“And what time do I belong to asked Use. 
placing herself before her husband. 

“ You are my dear wife,” he exclaimed, trying 
to draw her to him. 

“ I will tell you,” continued Use, holding 
back : “ in your opinion, I belong to a past 
time, and that once made me more unhap])y 
than I can express. But I no longer care about 
it. For when I can compel you to kiss my hand 
as often as I desire it” — the Professor was very 
willing — “when I see that it requires no per- 
suasion to induce you to give me a kiss — it is 
not necessary that you should try it now j fur- 
ther, when I observe that the learned gentleman 
is not disinclined to hand my slippers to me, 
and perhaps even my dressing-gown, — I do not 
wish to give you trouble now, but unhook my 
ear-rings and open the jewel-box, — and when I, 
besides, observe that you are anxious to please 
me, that at my wish you took the wife of the 
Consistorial Councillor to dinner, whom you 
could not bear, and that you have bought me 
this beautiful dress, although you understand 
nothing about buying; when I, further, see that 
Magnificus is quite under my sway, that I have 
the keys of the bread, and even manage the ac- 
counts ; and, lastly, when I bear in mind that 
you, good, dear bookworm, think me, your wife 
Use, worthy of .a little discussion together with 
your Greeks and Romans, and that it is a plea- 
sure to you when I understand a little of your 
learned writings, — I come to the conclusion that 
you entirely belong to me, you and your century, 
and that it is quite indifferent to me in what 
period of the world’s history my spirit origi- 
nated. Then when I, the relic of a distant cen- 
tury, pinch your car, as I do now', the great 
master of the present and future, and his phi- 
losophising on the different natures of men, 
become only laughable. Now that I have held 
this discourse, can you sleep quietly ?” 

“That wohld be difficult,” replied the Pro- 
fessor, “ w'hilst the learned housewife is fluttering 
about the bed, holding discourses in her dressing- 
gown which are more lengthy than those of a 
Roman philosopher, and whilst she rattles the 
doors of the cupboards and wanders about the 
room,” 

“ My tyrant requires his coffee early in the 
morning, so it must be given out overnight, 
and I cannot sleep if 1 have not all the keys 
near me.” 

“ I see nothing will be of any use,” said the 
Professor, “ but a serious exorcism ;” and, paro- 
dying a ver.se of Theocritus, he called out, 
“ Vandal, tui’n round and draw the W’oman into 
the room.” 


THREE CONCLAVES. 


123 


** I nicst see whether there are any lights 
burning in the rooms.” But immediately after- 
wards she knelt down by the bed, and threw 
her arms round his neck. “ Everything is so 
charming in the world, Felix,” exclaimed she ; 
** humbly pray that our happiness may 

“les, you are happy, Fran Use; but, as your 
father said, you have to thank your prudence for 
it, not your courage.*’ 

Wlien Use wrote to her father, to describe 
how the great evening party had gone off, she 
did not forget to add that her future Sovereign 
had been among the guests, and that she had 
much intelligent conversation with him. Her 
father did not appear to attach much value to 
this last communication, for he answered, rather 
irritably, “ If you are so influential an adviser, 
exert yourself to obtain a decision for us with 
respect to the great road. The affair has been 
before the magistrates for ten years ; it is a 
shame that we should be so cut off from all the 
world. The gjey has broken his leg. Our pro- 
perty would be worth ten thousand thalers more 
if the Government were not so dilatory.” 

Use read the letter to her husband, and said, 
"We can tell the Prince about the road; he can 
ai-range it with his father.” 

Her husband laughed. " I will not undertake 
this commission : it does not appear to me as if 
the Prince would have gi’eat influence on the 
Government.” 

" We will see about that,” replied Use, gaily; 
" on the next opportunity I shall speak to him 
about it.” 

This opportunity soon occurred. The Con- 
sistorial Councillor, who was now Theological 
Dean, had a tea-party. It was a distinguished 
and dignified assembly, but not agreeable to Use ; 
the piety of the Dean had long been suspicious 
to her, for beneath the gown of the bland gentle- 
man she saw clearly Ji fox’s tail peeping out; in 
the speeches of the Dean’s wife there was an 
unpleasant mixture of honey and gall. Tlie 
rooms were small and hot, and the guests seemed 
bored. But the Hereditary Prince had promised 
to come, with his Chamberlain ; as he entered, 
the master of the house and some of the guests 
endeavoured to form a line for his reception; 
but all their attempts were vain, from the heed- 
Icssness or obstructiveness of most of the com- 
pany. The Prince, led by the Dean, had to 
struggle through the groups up to the mistress 
of the house. His eyes turned from her sharp 
features and wandered about to where Use was 
standing, like a being from anothef planet ; she 
looked to-day quite majestic ; her ribbon head- 
dress sat like a coronet on her wavy hair, the 
abxmdance of which almost overpowered her 
head. The Prince looked shyly up to her, and 
could scarcely find proper words with which to 
accost her. AMien, after a short greeting, he 
turned again to the rest of the society. Use was 
displeased ; she had expected more attention 
from their intimacy. She did not consider that 
his position in the society was not that of a pri- 
vate man, and that he had to fulfil his princely 
duties before he could go about like others. 
Whilst with inward disgust he did what his po- 
sition required of him, going slowly round, he 
went first to Use’s husband, then to the other 


dignitaries; had some pi-esented to him, and 
asked the questions that are considered right in 
these cases ; but he waited impatiently for the 
time when fate would allow him to have a little 
conversation with his countrywoman. But he 
did his duty bravely ; the Professor of History 
expressed his pleasure that some old chronicks 
of his country would be published, and endea- 
voured, half-talking and half-teaching, to im- 
press him with their importance. Meanwhile the 
Prince thought that the Rector’s wife would, 
at least, sit on his left hand, the Chamberlain 
having pointed out to him that the Dean’s w ife 
must be on his right. 

The affair was doubtful. The Dean’s wife 
was certainly the hostess, but the evening had a 
certain otficial University tone about it, and Use 
w’as, without dispute, the most distinguished 
among the learned ladies. Nevertheless, this 
doubt ceased to exist as the Dean, on account of 
numerous presentations of theological w'orks, 
and many letters of admiring homage, had been 
made by the Prince, Knight Commander of his 
order. He had been so exalted by this, as the 
Chamberlain explained, that the difference of' 
dignity betw'een the Magnificus and Dean was 
more than compensated, and the Dean’s wife 
had therefore the first place. The Chamberlain 
acknowledged that in reality it was a matter of' 
indifference how any one sat together here, for 
there could be no question of any right of rank 
in this society. But it would be more becoming 
for the Prince not to neglect all distinctions. 

On his left, at all events, the Prince hoped 
to have Frau Use. But even this hope was 
frustrated by a trick of the Dean’s wife. For 
there w'as amongst the company a Colonel’s 
wife ; they w^ere people of old family lately 
come to the place. The lady of the house lost 
no time in taking the Colonel’s wdfe up to the 
Chamberlain, and on meeting, it turned out 
that they had mutual relations. By this the 
whole arrangement of rank at supper w'as dis- 
turbed. The lady claimed her right to be pre- 
sented. The Chamberlain took her up towards 
the Prince, who came forward to meet her very 
civilly, and expressed a wish to make acquain- 
tance wdth the lady. 

" She allows herself to be presented to a stu- 
dent,” said the little Gunther, astonished. 

" That is a breach of the social rights which 
touches the dignity of woman,” said Frau Stru- 
velius, displeased. 

" But she did it very nicely,” said Use ; “her 
manner with him pleases me.’ 

The ladies did not know that the object of 
their remarks w'as, in this moment of apparent 
humiliation, enjoying the ti’iumph of a higher 
position. The Prince, the Colonel’s wife, and 
the Chamberlain formed for a short time a 
group on w’hich the evening light shone, all 
three with the proud consciousness that they 
w’^ere united in a bond of fellowship among 
strangers. 

The consequence of this presentation was 
that the Colonel’s wdfe sat on the left of the 
Prince, and Use between two Deans opposite to 
him. It did not make it easier to the Prince 
to preserve his princely dignity when lie saw 
opposite to him, every time he looked up, the 
eyes and curls of his countrywoman. The even- 


124 


THE LOST MANUSCIIIPT. 


in" passed slowly for him, and it was not till 
the party was breaking up that he had an oppor- 
tunity of speaking without restraint to Frau llse. 

“ I will wait,” thought Use ; “ he shall not es- 
cape the road.” 

“ Have you heard from your father ? ” in- 
quired the Prince, a question by which he fre- 
quently began the conversation. 

“ My news is not good,” replied Use ; “ only 
think, your Highness, one of our horses has 
broken his leg. It was a grey ^\duch we reared 
ourselves, a good gentle creature, which I have 
often ridden, though ray father did not much 
like ray doing so. Then I must tell your High- 
ness, the road that leads to the great market 
town, to which my father every year sends his 
corn, is terribly bad, and the Government do 
nothing to improve it. For ten years it has 
been in question, but it comes to nothing. If 
your Highness could help to obtain a chaussee 
lor us, 1 beg of you to do so ; it wdll be a benefit 
to the w'hole neighbourhood.” 

The Prince looked at her kindly, and said, w’ith 
embarrassment : 

“ It is an afiiiir of the Government, I believe 
my father knows nothing of it.” 

“ I am convinced of that,” replied Use ; “ the 
gentlemen of the Government have always rea- 
sons for doing nothing ; they understand how to 
make ditficulties, and pretend they have no 
money.” 

The Chamberlain approached, and as the con- 
versation took an unpleasant political tone, the 
Prince quickly retreated, bowing and laughing, 
with these w ords : 

“ Let us hope for the best.” 

Use, on going home, said to her husband : 

“ He is a good child, but in society he has no 
powers of conversation.” 

Fortune would have it that some weeks after, 
the Koyal Councillor, who had the chief ad- 
ministration at liossau, came to the University, 
visited the Chamberlain, and was introduced by 
him to the Prince. He was invited to dinner, 
and the Prince show'ed uncommon interest in 
the condition of that district j he inquired about 
the properties in the neighbourhood and their 
proprietors; and, at last, when standing alone 
by the window with the Councillor, di’inking his 
coflee, said : 

“ How is it that there is no chaussee in the 
country ? Could not you do something about it ?” 

The oflicial duly enumerated the difficulties. 
At last the Prince replied : 

“ Yes, 1 know there are plenty of reasons ; but 
I shall be obliged to you to give yourself the 
trouble of taking the matter in hand.” 

Much impressed with these words, the Rossau 
official returned home. He revolved them in 
his troubled mind for three days, and the more 
he thought of them the more important they 
seemed, his own future might depend upon the 
result. At last he came to the conclusion that 
an extraordinary exertion was necessary; he 
thei’efore went at once to the seat of Government 
and laid the whole state of the case, and a large 
bundle of dusty acts concerning the road, before 
the minister. The minister thanked him for 
his communication, and w'as also of opinion that 
this was an incident which it w'ould be prudent 
to make known to his Most Serene Highness. 


When he had concluded his report on staM 
affairs, he mentioned that in the district of 
Rossau complaints had been made of the ba«l 
state of the roads, and a strong desire expressed 
for a chaussee, and the Hereditary Prince had 
shown a lively interest in the matter. The 
Prince rose hastily from his scat. 

“ The Hereditarj' Prince ? What does that 
mean ? It is very satisfactory to me to find 
that my son takes an interest in the condition of 
the country,” he added. “ I will take the aflair 
into consideration.” 

The same day a letter was wn-itten by the 
Prince himself to the Chamberlain, saying : 

“ How comes the Hereditary Prince to take 
an interest in the formation of a chaussee at 
Rossau ? I desire further information.” 

The Chamberlain w^as in great perplexity, and 
felt his position endangered by this secret. At 
last, placed in a position betw een father and son, 
he chose the path of frank disclosure to the ris- 
ing sun, and imparted to the Prince his father’s 
question. 

“ Y’ou see xvhat impoi-tance his Serene High- 
ness attaches to the communication ; the details 
must be imparted to him.” 

The Prince w^as equally confounded. 

“It was only a word thrown out casually,” 
he rejoined, w ith hesitation. 

“ So much the better,” said the Chamberlain ; 
“all that remains to be said is, what gave rise to 
your Highness’s wish. It may naturally seem 
strange to the Prince that his subjects or magis- 
trates should apply to your Highness instead of 
to him, as appears to have been the case.” 

“ No,” replied the Prince, “ I heard of it at 
the house of the Rector Magnificus. I simply 
asked the Councillor about it w hen he was here. 
I should, how'ever, like to be able to give an 
answ'er,'” he added, shrewdly. 

The Chamberlain w’as tranquillised, and in his 
report extolled the Professor and Use, who kept 
a very agreeable house, and he did not fail to 
observe that the Hereditary Prince liked to be 
there. He was rejoiced w'hen a few^ days after a 
communication w’as made on the business by the 
Cabinet Secretary, and followed by a letter from 
the Sovereign himself, in wfliich he expressed his 
great satisfaction in the conduct of the Heredi- 
tary Prince and the Chamberlain. 

Use was equally rejoiced when her father 
wrote to her : 

^ “ Use, are you a w itch ? An order has been 
given to take the chaussee in hand immediately ; 
the surveyor is already here to mark out the 
road.” 

Use, in the middle of the day, took the letter 
with great delight out of her pocket, saying : 

• “ Read, you incredulous man, and see w hat 
our little Prince has been able to accomplish ; 
w'e did the good gentleman injustice. My poor 
grey excited his pity, and he W’rote everything to 
his dear father.” 

The next time that Use met the Hereditary 
Prince, she began, after the first greeting:, in a 
low voice : 

** My home ow'es w’arm thanks to your High- 
ness, who has hud the kindness to exert your- 
self for our chaussee.” 

“ Is it to be made ?’* asked the Prince, sui> 
prised. 


THREE CONCLAVES. 


125 


“ Docs not, your Iliglmess know it ? Your 
spplic.ation has been aUended to by your Most 
Serene Lord and father/’ 

** It would have had little effect,” continued 
the Prince. “No, no,” he added, eagerly dis- 
owning it. I did not write to my father. It 
has been entirely his own decision.” 

Use remained silent : she could not understand 
what should prevent the son of a Prince from 
openly laying before his father a request on a 
matter of business, the fulfilment of which would 
be beneficial to many ; that he should disown 
all participation in what he had evidently done 
appeared to her a very misplaced modesty. 

The Chamberlain had in his last Cabinet letters 
confirmation of his opinion that the prince was 
rather glad of the intimacy of the Hereditary 
Prince in the Rector’s house. He reflected some- 
times on the reasons for this interest in persons, 
who were so much out of the sphere of princely 
notice. He could not understand it. At all 
events it was his duty not to keep the Prince 
away from this house, and to make himself 
agreeable to the Rector and his lady. This he 
did willingly and honestly, and oftentimes went 
to the Professor’s without the Prince; he asked 
him to recommend books to him, showed great 
deference for his judgment about men, and chose, 
as far as did not interfere with his instructions, 
the Prince’s teachers by his advice. The energetic 
dignity and proud frank character of the learned 
man attracted the courtier, and Werner became 
a valuable acquaintance to him. He was also 
sincerely attached to Frau Use, and she could 
occasionally discover something of the heart of 
the Chamberlain. 

But although the Chamberlain had all the 
pliancy of a courtier, and knew that the visits 
to the Rector’s house were welcome both to his 
young master and the Prince, he showed little 
complaisance for the young Prince’s wishes. 
Indeed, he was inclined to make difficulties if 
ever, which seldom happened, the Hereditary 
Prince proposed to join Werner’s tea-party ; he 
went there with him at proper intervals, but 
after the chaussee afiair he avoided any greater 
intimacy for the Prince. On the other hand, the 
Chamberlain endeavoured to make the Prince 
at home in a fitting way with the students. Of 
the separate associations which were denoted 
by colours, customs, and statutes, the corps of 
Markomann was then the most distinguished. 
It was the aristocratic union, included many 
sons of old families and some of the best 
fencers ; its members proudly w’ore their coloured 
caps, were much abused, and not very popular. 
The Chamberlain found a relation in this corps, 
and amongst the leaders there was a due esti- 
mation of the social position of his young 
master. 

Thus the Prince became intimate with this 
association, he invited the students to his apart- 
ments, sometimes joined in their small drinking 
parties, and was agreeably introduced by them 
into the customs of academic life. He took 
fencing lessons, and, in spite of his delicate small 
figure, showed some aptitude for it, and the 
swing of the rapier in his room endangered daily 
the mirror and chandelier. 

Use expressed to her husband her astonish- 
ment that the Prince, who had at first so 


quickly and easily opened his heart to them, 
had held back so cautiously since the great 
chaussee afiair. 

“ Have I appeared to him too presuming ?” 
she asked, with vexation ; “ it was said w'ith the 
best intentions. But I observe, Felix, it is not 
with these great people as with us. If we once 
put confidence in people we become at home with 
them; but the others are like the birds that 
sing a song close to your ear, and then at once 
fly ofl* and seek another resting-place far away.” 

“ The following year they will perhaps come 
again,” replied her husband; “any one who 
tries to tame them at home will be disappointed. 
If their airy path brings them near, you may 
take pleasure in them; but one should not 
trouble oneself about these triflers.” 

Use nodded, and replied : 

“ Thy mouth, Thysis, is filled with honey ; I 
hear and learn.” 

Nevertheless, in secret Use was vexed with 
the unfaithfulness of her little singing bird. 

“ My duty brings me to you to-day,” began 
the Chamberlain, on entering the Professor’s 
room. “ Among the lectures which are desired 
for the Hereditary Prince is one upon heraldry. 
I beg your Magnificence to point out to me a 
teacher who could give him a few lessons. In 
the capital there was no suitable person, and I 
confess without blushing that my knowledge is 
much too scanty for me to be able to impart any 
to the Prince.” 

The Professor reflected. 

“ Among my colleagues I know no one whom 
I could recommend. It is possible that Magistdr 
Knips may have knowledge of that kind. He is 
well informed in all these by-paths of learning; 
but he has grown tip in a low condition of life, 
and his style of obsequiousness is a little old- 
fashioned.” 

This old-fashioned obsequiousness did not ap- 
pear any hindrance to the Chamberlain ; and as 
he himself wished to make use of the oppor- 
tunity to ascertain clearly the meaning of a 
mysterious figure in his own coat of arms, which 
looked very like an oven-rake, but which was 
really a Celtic Druid’s staff, he replied : 

“ There need not be many lectures, and I can 
be present myself.” 

Magister Knips was called, and was, as usual, 
at hand, and was presented to the Chamberlain. 
The grotesque figure appeared to the latter comi- 
cal, but not at all objectionable. The modesty 
was undeniable ; the obsequiousness could not 
be greater. If one could put him into a tolerable 
coat, he might, for a temporary object, be al- 
low^ to sit at the same table with the Here- 
ditary Prince and the Chamberlain, bo the 
Chamberlain asked whether Herr Knips could 
undertake to give some lectures upon heraldry. 

“ If the high and well-born gentleman will 
graciously be content with German and French 
emblazonry, I believe I may venture to offer him 
my undoubtedly unsatisfactory knowledge. But 
of English coats of arms and figures my know- 
ledge is not extensive, on account of want of 
opportunity. I would, however, endeavour to 
give some information upon the new investiga- 
tions concerning the Honourable Ordinary.” 

“That will not be necessary,” replied the 
Chamberlain ; and, turning to the Professor, be 


126 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


•aid: “Will your Magnificence allow me to 
enter into details with Herr Magister ?** 

The Professor left them to transact the busi- 
ness, and the Chamberlain continued, more 
freely : 

“ I will, trusting to the reccmmendation of 
the Herr Rector, endeavour to ascertain whether 
the Hereditary Prince will avail himself of your 
instruction.” 

Knips bent himself lower and lower, until he 
almost disappeared into the ground; but his 
head leant over his shoulder, and he looked with 
reverence on the Chamberlain. The latter settled 
liberally the price of the lessons. Knips smiled, 
and his eyes twinkled. 

“ 1 must, besides, request, Herr Magister, 
that you will not object to assume a becoming 
appearance for the intended lectures. A black 
coat, and trousers to match.” 

“ 1 have them,” replied Knips, raising his 
voice. 

“ White waistcoat and white cravat,” con- 
tinued the Chamberlain. 

“ I have those likewise,” warbled forth 
Knips. 

The Chamberlain considered it desirable to 
ascertain, by his own inspection, the capabilities 
of the candidate in this respect. 

“ Then 1 beg of you to make your appearance 
at the apartments of the Hereditary Prince in 
fitting guise. There we will confer upon de- 
tails.” 

Knips appeared the following morning in his 
state dress, his hair smoothed down by strong 
application of the brush, and with gloves and 
rouud hat ; and the Chamberlain thought that 
the man did not look so bad. He gave him to 
understand that a learned discussion was not re- 
quired, but rather a rapid survey, and presented 
to him on his departure a bottle of perfume, for 
his white pocket-handkerchief^ in order to con- 
secrate Knips’ atmosphere. 

Knips prepared himself for his first lesson. 
He began by drawing forth his colour-box, then 
some complete letter-writers and old compliment 
books. By the help of the colour he painted 
some coats of arms, and from the books he 
abstracted some respectful forms of speech, such 
as are introduced into the humble language of 
our Government officials in intercourse with the 
great, and learnt them all by heart. At the 
proper hour he presented himself to the Cham- 
berlain, polished and fragrant, like a flower 
which, by means of the sun’s rays, has ex- 
tracted the sap from the stalk. Thus he was 
brought into the presence of the Prince, and 
almost withered into nothing as he approached 
the chair in which he was to sit, and began his 
lecture by drawing out a small map with the 
coat of arms of the royal house, and of the 
Chamberlain ; he laid it with the deepest* rever- 
ence before the Prince, and added his first ex- 
planations. 

His lecture, to use the Chamberlain’s own 
words, was magnificent; his humble arabesques 
wound themselves into his discourse, rather 
prolix, it is true, but not disagreeable ; they 
were comical, but suited well the scrolls he was 
lecturing on. He frequently brought drawings, 
and books of coats of arms, and engravings 
from the library for inspection, and showed 


himself more thoroughly educated than was, 
perhaps, necessary. If he ever W’andered into 
historical discussions, which -were more interest- 
ing to him than his hearers, the Chamberlain 
raised his finger, and Knips respectfully retraced 
his steps. The gentlemen took more pleasure in 
his lectures than in many of those given by the 
Magister’s pati-ons. The lessons were extended 
over the w hole half year, for it was discovered 
accidentally that Knips had a good deal of 
knowledge of tournaments, tilting at the ring, 
and other knightly amusements. He told the 
Prince about the old festivities of his noble 
house, described accurately the ceremonial, and 
knew' even the names of those who had assisted 
at them. His knowledge appeared W'onderful 
to his hearers, though it cost him little trouble 
to collect this information. At the conclusion 
of the time he was richly rewardeO, and his 
hearers w'ere sorry that this strange figure, with 
his old-fashioned knowledge, should no longer 
give them lectures. 

“ Mother, see here,” cried Knips, entering 
his room, and taking a small roll of money out 
of his pocket ; “ that is the largest sum that I 
have ever earned.” 

The mother rubbed her hands. “ All praise 
to the distinguished people who know how to 
value my sou.” 

“ To value ?” replied Knips, contemptuously. 

“ They know nothing about me or my learning, 
and the less one teaches them the better they 
are pleased. It gives them trouble to under- 
stand that w'hich is plain to all the w'orld, and 
w'hat has been put in hundreds of folios is new 
to them. I treated them like little boys, and 
they did not find it out. No, mother, they 
understand still less than the Professor w'orld 
here how to value me. No one appreciates my 
knowdedge. Yes, one does,” he murmured, 

“ but he has more pride than the Chamberlain. 
The Chamberlain seems to wish to inform him- 
self about the old carousals and masquerades ; 

I w ill send him the little Rohr as a present. 
There is so little in it that it is good enough for 
him. I bought the book for four groscheu ; the 
parchment is still tolerably white. I will w ash 
it with sal-ammoniac, and paste his arms within. 
Wlio knows W’hat may come of it ?” 

He cleaned it and prepared his paints. 

“ The world is full of tricks, mother. "Who 
w’ould have thought that I should have earned 
capital by this old rubbishing nonsense of 
heraldry ?” He drew' and daubed over the 
coat of arms. “ I have seldom brought gold 
into the house, and then it was always for good- 
for-nothing stutf, that did me no honour,” Here 
he broke otf. “ I will once more put on my 
servant’s dress when I take him the book ; then 
I will put it out of sight.” 

In the district of Rossau the road surveyors 
put up measuring poles, and at the University 
Magister Knips placed the white pig-skin bind- 
ing in the hands of his highly-honoured patron. 

Use rejoiced that the road to her father’s pro- 
perty would be uselul to every one, and the 
Professor heard with interest that the man 
w hom he had recommended had succeeded well, 
and he smiled benevolently at the expressions of 
gratitude of the Magister. But for the good 
formation of the new road, and the approved 


TIELLIEBCHEN. 


127 


dexterity of the little man, the happy couple, 
who in both cases had hit upon the right person, 
were to receive thanks w’hich they did not 
desire. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

One evening Use w^as placing her last sugar- 
plums on the Christmas table j Laura was 
rattling an uncracked almond, and asked the 
Doctor whence arose the honoured custom of 
Vielliebchen.* The Doctor did not know how 
to give her, at the moment, the origin of the 
game, and was evidently perplexed by this un- 
certainty. He therefore forgot his duty in 
demanding the mutual enjoyment of the double 
almond. Laura opened the shell and laid two 
nuts carelessly between him and her, saying : 

There they are.'^ 

“ Shall we share them cried the Doctor, 

gftily. 

“ If you like,” replied Laura, giving and 
taking, in the right w'ay. “ But it must be 
only in joke,” she added, thinking of her father ; 
“ and no real presents.” 

Both ate the almonds w'ith the laudable in- 
tention to lose the game. The consequence 
was that the affair did not advance. Laura, in 
the course of the following week, handed to the 
Doctor books, tea-cups, and plates of meat. He 
was dumb as a stick, and never said, “I am 
thinking of it.” Had he forgotten the agree- 
ment, or was it his usual chivalrousness ? But 
Laura could not remind him of his forgetfulness, 
otherwise she would gain the Vielliebchen. She 
again became very angry with him. 

The learned gentleman does not hand any- 
™ thing to me,” she said, to Use ; “ he treats me as 
M if I were a nettle.” 

“ That is accident,” replied Use ; “ he has long 
I forgotten it.” 

” Naturally,” cried Laura ; “ he has no 
memory for a pretty joke wdth an insignificant 
person.” 

“ Bring it to an end,” advised Use ; “ you re- 
mind him of it.” 

It so happened that the Doctor, on one oc- 
casion, could not avoid picking up a pair of 
scissors, and putting them into her hand. 

“ I am thinking of it,” said Laura ; and 
added, pertly, “ more than you.” 

After that she oftered the Doctor the sugar- 
box ; the Doctor took a piece of sugar out civilly, 
but was silent. 

“ Good morning, Vielliebchen,” she cried, con- 
temptuously. 

The Doctor laughed, and declared himself 
vanquished. 

“It is not very pretty of you,” continued 
Laura, eagerly, “ to have cared so little about 
your Vielliebchen. I will never again eat one 
with a gentleman who is so absent ; there is no 
honour in winning.” 

Shortly after the Doctor handed her a small 
printed book in beautiful binding. On the first 
page there was, “ For Fraulein Laura,” and on 
the second, “The Origin of Vielliebchen; a 
Tale.” It was the histc>ry of the beautiful 
daughter of a king, who liked to crack and eat 

* “Much love.” 


nuts, but would not marry; therefore she in- 
vented the following trick. She jiresented to 
every prince who sought her hand — and they 
were countless — the half of a double almond, 
and she ate the twin. Then she said, “ If now 
your Highness can compel me to take some- 
thing out of your hand without saying the 
words, * I am thinking of it,’ 1 shall be ready to 
marry you ; but if 1 can induce your Highness 
to take something from my hand without saying 
these words, your Highness shall have your 
princely head shaven and forthwith leave my 
country.” But there was a trick in the fulfil- 
ment of this contract ; for the beautiful Princess 
could not, according to Court manners, receive 
into her own hand anything from any one, on 
pain of death, but it was handed to her by a 
lady-in-waiting, who handed it to the King’s 
daughter. But if the King’s daughter herself 
chose to take or hand something, who could 
prevent her ? Thus it was for the wooers’ 
bitter pleasure. For however much they might 
endeavour to induce the Princess to take some- 
thing out of their hands without the interven- 
tion of the lady-in-waiting, the latter always 
interposed and spoilt the best plans. But when 
the King’s daughter wished to get rid of a 
wooer she was a whole day so gracious to him 
that he was quite enchanted ; and when he sat 
next to her, and was already intoxicated with 
joy, she took, as if by accident, something that 
was near her, — a pomegranate, or an egg, — and 
said, softly, “ Keep this as a remembrance of 
me.” As soon as the Prince took the thing in 
his hand, and perhaps was preparing to say the 
saving words, the thing burst asunder, and a 
frog, a hornet, or a bat, flew out towards his 
hair, so that he drew back frightened, and, in 
his fear, forgot the w’ords, and, on the spot, he 
was shaven and sent about his business. 

Thus years had passed, and in all the King’s 
houses the princes wore perukes, — these have 
since become fashionable. Then it happened 
that the son of a foreign king, travelling on his 
own business, by accident saw the almond 
queen. He thought her beautiful, and observed 
the trick. But a friendly little grey mainnkiu 
had given him an apple, at which he w'as to 
smell once every year, and then a clever idea 
would come to him. He had, therefore, become 
very famous amongst all kings on account of 
his clever ideas. Now the time of the apple had 
come ; he smelt, and this idea occurred to him : 
“ If you would win the game of giving and 
taking, you must never under any circum- 
stances give or take an^’thing.” He had his 
hands firmly bound in his girdle, w^ent with his 
Marshal to court, and said he would gladly eat 
his almond. The Princess w^as much pleased 
W’ith him, and had the almond handcKi to him. 
His Marshal took it and put it in his mouth. 
Then the King’s daughter inquired what that 
meant, and especially why he carried his hands 
in his girdle. He answered that his Court 
customs were still stricter than hers ; and he 
must not take or give anything with his hands, 
but only with his feet or head. The Princes.** 
laughed, and said : 

“ In this w'ay how' can w’e ever manage oui 
game ? ” 

He shrugged his shoulders and answered ; 


128 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


“ Only if you W’ill consent to take something 
from my boots.” 

** That can never be,” cried the whole Court. 

Then why are you come here ?” exclaimed 
the Princess, bitterly, “ if you have such stupid 
customs ?” 

“Because you are very beautiful,” said the 
Prince ; “ and if I cannot win 1 can yet look at 
you.” 

“ I cau say nothing against that,” replied the 
King’s daughter. 

So the Prince remained at Court, and pleased 
her more and more. But as she also had a 
little mischief in her, she endeavourd in every 
way to mislead him and persuade him to draw 
his hand out of his girdle and take something 
from her. She conversed with him much, and 
made him presents of flowers, bonbons, and 
smelling-bottles, and at last even her bracelet. 
Many times his hands twitched, but he felt the 
pressure of the band and remembered himself, 
nodded to the Marshal, who collected the things, 
and said : 

“ We think of it.” 

Now the Princess became impatient, and she 
began : 

“ My handkerchief has fallen down ; could 
your Highness pick it up for me ?” 

The Prince took the handkerchief with the 
ends of his feet and waved it ; the Pi’incess bent 
down, took the handkerchief from his feet, and 
cried out, angrily : 

“ I am thinking of it.” 

A year had passed thus, and the King’s 
daughter said to herself, “It cannot continue 
so ; an end must be made of the affair, in one way 
or the other.” She began thus to the Prince : 

“ I have the best garden in the world, which 
I will to-morrow show your Highness.” 

The Prince smelt again at his apple. WTien 
they came to the garden the Prince began ; 

“Here it is wonderfully beautiful; that w’e 
may be able to w’alk together in peace, and not 
be disturbed by our game, I beg, my dear 
Princess, that you w'ill only for an hour adopt 
my Court custom, and allow your hands to be 
bound. Then we shall be sure of each other, 
and nothing vexatious can happen to us.” 

This did not please the Princess, but he en- 
treated and she could not refuse him this trifle. 
Thus they went alone together, with their hands 
bound in their girdles. The birds sang, the sun 
shone w^arm, and the red cherries hung dowm 
almost to their cheeks. The Princess looked up 
at the cherries, and exclaimed : 

“ What a pity it is that your Highness cannot 
pluck them for me.” 

The Prince answered, “ Necessity has no law';” 
he took a cherry with his mouth, and offered it 
to the King’s daughter. Nothing remained to 
the Princess but to put her mouth to his in order 
to take the cherry, and when she had the fruit 
between her lips, and a kiss from him in addi- 
tion, she could not at the moment say, “ I am 
thinking of it.” 

Then he exclaimed, aloud, “Good morning, 
Vielliebchen,” drew his hands out of his girdle 
and embraced her ; and if they did not die, &c. 

This story the Doctor had written and caused 
to be printed especially for Laura, so that no one 
would have the book but her. 


Laura carried the book to her private room, 
looked with pride on her name in print, and 
repeatedly read the little foolish story. She 
w'alked to and fro reflecting ; and when she thus 
considered her relations with Fritz Hahn she 
could not feel easy in her conscience. From her 
childhood she had been under obligations to him ; 
he had always been good and kind to her ; and 
she, and still more her father, had always caused 
him vexation. She thought penitently of all the 
past, up to the cat’s paws ; w hat she had tukeu 
to heart concerning the “ Vielliebchen^' w'as now 
clear to her; she could not be as unembarrassed 
as she ought to be, nor as indifferent as she 
would wish, because she was ahvays under the 
heavy burden of obligation. “ I must be quits 
about him. Ah ! but between him and me there 
is a wall of separation, my father’s commands.” 
She revolved in her mind how, W'ithout acting 
against his orders, she could do anything that 
would be agreeable to the Doctor. She had ven- 
tured something of the kind with the oranges; 
if she could devise anything that w'ould remain 
unknow'ii to those over the w'ay there w’ould be 
no danger, no tender relations and no friendship 
would arise from it, w Inch her father might wish 
to avoid. She hastened down to Use, and said, 
“ My obligations to the Doctor oppress me more 
than I can say ; it is insupportable to feel oneself 
ahvays in Lis debt. Now I have bethought me 
of something which will bring this state of things 
to a close.” 

“ Take care,” replied Use, “ that the affair is 
really brought to a good conclusion.” 

Thereupon Laura slipped into the Professor’s 
study, and beggid him to help her in playing off 
a joke upon the man over the way. “He collects 
antique things of all kinds ; I shoidd like to get 
him something rare that he would like. But no 
one must know' that I have anything to do W'ith 
it, himself least of all.” 

The Professor promised to think of something. 

Some time aftenvards he placed in Laura’s 
hands a small torn volume, that looked reduced 
to a pitiful state. They are single impressions 
of old popular songs,” said he, “that at some 
time have been bound up together. I hit upon 
them by a lucky accident. The little book is 
dear; to the amateur its value is beyond propor- 
tion greater than the price. Do not be disturbed 
at its bad appearance. Fritz will separate the 
individual songs, and arrange them in order in 
his collection. I am convinced you could not 
make him a present that w ould please him so 
mxich.” 

“He shall have it,” said Laura, contented, 
“but shall also be tormented.” 

It w’as a fine collection ; there W'ere very rare 
pieces among them, an entirely unknown im- 
pression of the song of the Knight Tanhauser, 
the song of the robber Sttirzebecher, and other 
charming morsels. Laura carried the book up- 
stairs, and carefully cut the thread of the bound 
sheets, which she kept loosely together. She 
then sat dow n to her writing-table, and com- 
menced an anonymous correspondence, which 
w'as made necessary by her father’s tyranny, 
w'riting in a feigned hand the following : “ Dear 
Herr Doctor, an unknown sends you this song 
for your collection; he has still thirty similar, 
which are destined lor you, but under con- 


VIELLIEBCHEN. 


129 


ditions. First, yon are to preserve towards 
every one, whoever it may he, inviolate secrecy. 
Secondly, you are to send for every poem, 
another, written by yourself, on any subject, 
addressed to O. W., at the Post-office. Thirdly, 
if you are willing to agree to this compact, go 
one of the three next days, in the afternoon, 
about three o’clock, to No. 10, Park -street, with 
a flower in your button-hole. The sender will 
rejoice exceedingly if you will enter into 
this joke. Your devoted, N. N.” The song of 
Sturzebecher was enclosed with this letter. 

It was five minutes after nine by the Doctor’s 
watch, which was confirmed by later inves- 
tigations, when this letter was brought into his 
room ; the barometer was rising, light feathery 
clouds fleeted across the sky, and the moon’s 
pale crescent shone forth from among them. The 
Doctor opened the letter, the green paper of 
which contrasted with the yellow old printed 
sheet that accompanied it. He unfolded the 
yellow sheet hastily, and read Stortehecker 
UTid Oodecke JUlichael, de rotvten alle heede** 
Tliere was no doubt it was the low German 
original text of the famous song, which had 
hitherto been lost to the world, that lay bodily 
before him. He was as pleased as a child with a 
Christmas-box. Then he read the letter, and 
Avhen he came to the end, he read it again. He 
laughed. It was clearly all a roguish jest. But 
^‘rom whom ? His thoughts turned first to 
Laura, but she had only the evening before 
treated him with cold contempt. Use was not 
to be thought of, and sueh playful mischief was 
very uulike the Professor. What did the house 
No. 10 mean ? The young actress who lived 
there was said to be a very charming and enter- 
prising young lady. W’as it possible she could 
have any knowledge of the songs of the people, 
and, the Doctor could not help thinking, a 
tender impression of himself ? It occun*ed to 
the excellent Fritz to go to the mirror for a 
minute, but he iuwardly protested against this, 
and, laughing, he withdrew to his writing-table 
and to the song of the people. He could not 
enter into the jest, that was clear, but it was a 
pity. He laid the Sturzebecher aside, and 
returned to his work. After a time, however, 
he took it again in his hand. This valuable 
contribution had been sent to him, fit all events, 
without any humiliating condition ; perhaps he 
might be allowed to keep it. He opened a 
portfolio of old popular songs, and placed it in 
its order as if it had been his own. Having laid 
the treasure in its proper place, he restored the 
portfolio to the bookshelf, and thought, it is a 
matter of indifterence where the sheet lies. 

In this way the Doctor Avrestled w ith himself 
till after dinner. Shortly befoi’e three o’clock 
he came to a quiet conclusion. If it was only 
the joke of an intimate acquaintance, he would 
not spoil it ; and if there had been some other 
motive, it must soon come to light. Meanwhile, 
he might keep the rare document, but he would 
not treat it as his own possession till the right 
of the sender and his object was clear. He must, 
ill the first place, communicate this view of the 
case to the unknown. After he had made the 
necessary compact between his conscience and his 
love of collecting, he fetched a flower out of his 
futbex*’8 room, placed it in his button-hole, and 
9 


walked into the street. He looked suspiciously 
at the windows of the hostile house, but Laura 
was not to be seen, for she hid behind the cur- 
tains, and snapped her fingers at the success of 
her jest when she saw the flower in his button- 
hole. The Doctor was embarrassed when he 
-came in front of the prescribed house. The 
situation was humiliating, and he repented of 
his covetousness. He looked at the window of 
the under story, and behold ! the young actress 
w'as standing close to it. He looked at her 
intelligent countenance and attractive features, 
took off his hat courteously, and was w'eak 
enough to blush ; the Fraulein returned the 
civility of the well-known son of the neighbour- 
ing house. Tlie Doctor took a little further 
walk ; there appeared to him something strange 
in this adventure. The presence and greeting 
of the artist at the window^ might perhaps not be 
accidental. He could not get rid of his per- 
plexity ; only one thing was quite clear to him, 
he Avas for the present in possession of the 
Sturzebecher. 

As his qualms of conscience did not cease, he 
debated Avith himself for two days whether he 
should permit himself any further interchange 
of letters ; on the third he silenced his last 
scruples. Thirty songs of the people, very old 
editions — the temptation Avas overpow'ering ! 
He looked out his own verses, — eflusions of his 
own lyrical period, examined and cast them 
aside. At last he found an innocent romance 
which in no Avays betrayed him j he copied it, 
and accompanied it by a few lines in Avhich he 
made it a condition that he should consider 
himself only the guardian of the songs. 

Some days aftei’W’ards he received a second 
packet ; it Avas a valuable monk’s song, in which 
roast Martinmas goose Avas celebrated. It was 
aceompanied by a note which contained the 
eneouraging Avords : “ Not amiss ; go on.” 

Again Laura’s figure rose before his eyes, 
and he laughed right heartily at the Martinmas 
goose. This also was an old edition of Avhich- 
there was no record. This time he selected an 
ode to Spring from his poems and addressed it, 
as directed, to 0. W. 

The Professor Avas astonished that the Doctor 
kept silence about the book of songs, and 
expressed this to Use, Avho Avas a little in the 
secret. 

“ He dare not speak ” she said ; “ she treats 
him badly. But as he is the person there is no 
danger in the joke for the wild girl.” 

But Laura was happy in her game of chess 
under concealed characters. She put the Doc- 
tor’s poems carefully into her private album, and 
she thought that the Hahn poetry was not so 
bad ; nay, it Avas admirable. But even more 
delightful to her pride than the correspondence, 
was the thought that the Doctor Avas forced 
into a little interchange of courtesy Avith the 
actress. When she met him again in Use’s 
room, and one of those present Avas extolling 
the talent of the young lady, she spoke without 
embarrassment and without turning to the 
Doctor of the curious whims of the actress, that 
she had once phiced her little dog at the Avin- 
dow Avith a night-cap on, Avhen an admirer, 
Avhom she did not like, had proposed to se- 
renade her, and that she had a preference foi 


130 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


beprging artisan lads, and could converse with 
them in the most masterly way in tlieir provin- 
cial dialect. 

The unsuspecting Doctor began to reflect. 
Was it then really the actress who, without his 
knowing it, was in correspondence with him ? 

This gave Fritz a certain quiet respect for the 

Once when Laura was sitting w’ith her mother 
at the play watching the actress, she perceived 
Fritz Hahn in the box opposite. She observed 
that he looked fixedly through his opera-glass on 
the stage, and sometimes expressed lively appro- 
bation. She had evidently succeeded in putting 
him upon a false track. 

Meanwhile he discovered that the unknown 
correspondent knew more than the writing of 
addresses. Laura had looked through the songs 
and long studied the text of the old poem of the 
Knight Tanhauser, who had lingered with Venus 
among the mountains, and she sent the song 
with the following lines: — 

“Whilst I'eading through this song I was 
overcome with emotion and horror at the meaning 
of this old poetry. What, in the opinion of the 
poet, became of the soul of the poor Tanhauser ? 
He had torn himself away from Venus, and re- 
tumed penitent to the Christian faith; and 
when the hard Pope said to him, ‘ It is as little 
possible for you to be saved as for the stick that 
1 hold in my hand to become green,’ he returned 
in proud despair to Venus and the mountains. 
But afterwards the stick in the hands of the 
Pope had become green, and it was in vain he 
sent his messengers to fetch back the knight. 
What was the singer’s view of the fall of the 
Tanhauser ? Would the ‘ Eternal love and 
mercy ’ still forgive the poor man, although he 
had for the second time given himself up to the 
devil ? Was the old poet so liberal minded that 
he considered the return to the heathen woman 
as pardonable ? Or is Tanhauser now in his eyes 
eternally lost ? and was the green stick only to 
show that the Pope must bear the blame? 1 
should be glad to hear your explanation of this. 
I think the poem very beautiful and touching, 
and, when one thoroughly examines it, there is 
powerful poetry in the simple words. But 1 feel 
much disturbed about the fate of Tanhauser. 
Yours, N. N.” 

The Doctor answered immediately : 

“ It is sometimes difficult, from the deep feel- 
ing and terse expressions of the old poems, to 
understand the fundamental idea of the poet; 
and most difficult of all in a poem which has 
been handed down for centuries by popular tra- 
dition, and in which there must be accidental 
changes in the words and meaning. 'Ihe first 
idea of the song, that mortals dwell with the old 
heathen gods in the mountains, rests on a no- 
tion which originated in the ancient times. The 
idea that the God of Christians is more merciful 
than his representative on earth has been rooted 
in Germany since the time of the Hohenstanfen. 
One may refer the origin of the poem to that 
period. It probably attained the form in which 
it is now handed down to us about the middle of 
the fifteenth century, when the opposition to the 
hierarchy in Germany was general both among 
high and low. The grand idea of this opposition 
was that the priests cannot forgive sins, and 


that only repentance, atonement, and elevation 
of the heart to God can avail. Ihe edition 
which you have so kindly sent me is of the early 
period of Luther, but we know that the song is 
older, and we possess various texts, in some of 
which it is more prominently set forth that Tan- 
hauser after his fall might still trust in the 
divine mercy. But undoubtedly in the text you 
have sent me the singer considers poor Tan- 
hauser as lost if he did not liberate himself from 
the power of Venus, but that he might be saved 
if he did. The great and elevating .thought 
that man may shake ofl' the trammels of past 
sin may be discovered in this poem, the poetical 
value of which I esteem as much as you do.” 

When Laura received this answer, Gabriel 
was again her confulential messenger. She 
sprang up with joy from her writing-table. She 
had with Use grieved over the poor Tanhauser, 
and given her friend a copy of the poem ; now 
she ran down to her with the Doctor’s letter, 
proud that, by means of a childish joke, at 
which Use had shaken her head, she had entered 
into a learned discussion. From this day the 
secret correspondence attained an importance 
for both Laura and Fritz which they had little 
thought of in the beginning; for Laura now 
ventured, when she could not satisfy herself on 
any subject or took .a secret interest in anything, 
to impart to her neighbour thoughts which 
hitherto had been confined to her writing-table, 
and the Doctor discovered with astonishment 
and pleasure a female mind of powerful and 
original cast, which sought to obtain clear views 
from him, and unfolded itself to him with un- 
usual confidence. These feelings might be dis- 
covered in his poems, which were no longer 
taken out of the portfolio, but assumed a more 
personal character. Laura’s eyes moistened as 
she held in her hand the pages in which he ex- 
pressed in verses his excitement and impatience 
to ascertain his unknown correspondent. The 
ieeling evinced in these lines was so pure, and 
one saw so clearly in them the good and refined 
character of the man, that one could not fail to 
have a hearty confidence in him. The old popular 
songs, in the first instance the main object, be- 
came gradually only the accompaniments of the 
secret correspondence, and the wings of Laura’s 
enthusiastic soul soared over golden clouds, 
whilst Herr Hummel growled below and Herr 
Halm awaited suspiciously fresh attacks of the 
enemy. 

But this poetical connexion with the neigh- 
bour’s son, which had been set on foot by Laura’s 
enterprising spirit, sulfered the danger which 
threatens all poetical views of life — of being at 
any moment disturbed by rude reality. The 
Doctor was never to know that she was his cor- 
respondent, — the daughter of the enemy w’hom 
he daily met, the childish maiden who bickered 
with him in Use’s room about butterbrod and 
almonds. When they met he was always as 
before, the Doctor with the spectacles, and she 
the little snappish Hummel, who had more of 
the rudeness ot her father than Gabriel would 
allow. The pouting and teasing between them 
went on every day as formerly. Nevertheless, 
it was inevitable tiiat a ray of warm feeling 
should sometimes beam in Laura's eyes, and 
that the friendly disposition with wliich she 


VIELLIEBCHEN. 


131 


renlly regarded the Doetor should sometimes he 
betrayed in a passing word. Fritz, therefore, 
laboured under an uncertainty over which he 
secretly laughed, but which, nevertheless, tor- 
mented him. When he received the well-feigned 
handwriting he always saw Laura before him ; 
but when he met his neighbour at his friend’s 
she took care, by mocking remarks and shy re- 
serve, to perplex him again. Necessity com- 
pelled her to this coquetry, but it acted upon 
him each time like a cold wind; and then it 
struck him, it cannot be Laura, — is it the 
actress ? 


There was general astonishment at the tea- 
table when the Doctor once let out that he had 


been invited to a masked ball, and was not 
averse^ to entering the noisy scene. The ball 
was. given by a large circle of distinguished 
citizens, to which Herr Hmnmel belonged. The 
peculiarity of this party was that the chief 
actors of the city were admitted as welcome 
guests. As the Doctor had hitherto never shown 
any inclination for this kind of social enter- 
tainment, the Professor was astonished. Laura 
alone guessed the cause, but all received with 
silent pleasure the announcement of this unusual 
excess. 

Herr Hummel ^vas not of opinion that a 
masked ball was the place where the worth of a 
German citizen was shown to greatest advan- 
tage. He had unwillingly given in to the 
coaxing of his ladies, and was now standing 
among the masks in the salon. He had put the 
little black domino carelessly on his back like a 
priest’s mantle ; his hat was pressed down over 
his eyes; the silk fringe of the mask over- 
shadowed on all sides his face, which was as 
difficult to distinguish as a full moon behind 
thin clouds. He looked mockingly on the throng 
of masks that streamed past him, somewhat less 
comfortable and more silent than they would 
have been without masks and coloured coats. 
Obnoxious to him more than all were the harle- 
quins scattered about, who, at the beginning of 
the festival, affected an extravagance which was 
not natural to them. Herr Hummel had good 
eyes, but it happened to him, as to others, that 
he was not able to recognise every one who was 
masked. But all the world knew him. Some 
one pulled him behind. 

“ What is your dog Speihahn doing ?” asked 
a gentleman in rococo dress, with an obeisance. 

Hummel bowed in return. “ Thanks for your 
kind inquiry. I should have brought him with 
me to bite the calf of your legs if you had been 
provided with this article.” 

“Can this Hummel sting?” asked a gi-een 
domino, in a falsetto voice. 

“ Spare your remarks,” replied Hummel, 
angrily ; “ your voice is changed into a wo- 
man’s. I quite pity your family.” 

He steered himself further on. 

“ Will you buy a lot of hareskins, brother 
Hummel ?” asked a wandering pedlar. 

“ I thank you, brother,” replied Hummel, 
fiercely ; “ but you can sell me the ass’s hair 
which your wife tore from you in your last 
quarrel.” 

“ That is the rough felt,” cried, pertly, a little 
clown, giving Herr Hummel a blow with Lis 
wand upon the stomach. 


This was too much for Herr Hummel : he 
seized the clown by the collar, took his wand 
away from him, and held the little refractory 
fellow on his knee. “ Wait, my little son,” he 
cried ; “ it w’ould be good for you to wear the 
felt somewhere else besides your head.” 

But a burly Turk caught him by the arm. 
“ Sir, how^ can you dare to lay hold of my son ? ” 

“ Is this chattel yours ?” asked Herr Hum- 
mel, furiously ; “ your blotting-paper physiog- 
nomy is unknown to me. If you, as Turk, 
devote yourself to the rearing of ill-mannered 
buffoons, you must expect to see Turkish baboons 
on their backs; that is everybody’s right. If 
you do not understand this you may come to 
me to-morrow' morning at my counter ; I wdll 
make the thing clear to you, and hand over to 
you a bill for the vvatch-glass that this creature 
from your harem has broken for me.” 

Thereupon he threw the clown into the ai*ms 
of the Turk, and the waud on the ground, and 
strode heavily through, the masks who sur- 
rounded him. 

“ There is not a human soul among them,” 
he growled out ; “ one is like Robinson Crusoe 
among tbe savages.” He moved about the ball- 
room utterly regardless of the white shoulders 
and bright eyes which circulated near him, and 
again disappeared. At last he looked at two 
grey bats whom he thought he knew, for it 
appeared to him that the masks were his wife 
and daughter. He went up to them, but they 
avoided him and mixed in the throng. They 
were undoubtedly his ladies, but they intended 
to remain unknown, and they knew that would 
be impossible if Herr Hummel was with them. 
Thus the forsaken householder turneil short 
about, and w ent into the next room, placed him- 
self in solitude by an empty table, took his mask 
off, ordered a flask of wine, asked for the daily 
paper, and lighted a cigar. 

“ Forgive me, Herr Hummel,” cried a little 
W'aiter ; “ smoking is not allowed here.” 

“ You also,” replied Herr Hummel, gloomily. 
“ You will see there shall be smoking. This is 
also masquerade joking. For to-day everything 
that is human aud rational is trodden under 
foot, and that is w'hat one calls a bal masque” 

Meanwhile Laura slipped about among the 
masks, looking for the Doctor. Fritz Hahn 
could easily be discovered by sharp eyes, for he 
wore his spectacles over his nuisk. He was 
standing in a blue domino, near an elegant lady 
in a red mantle. Laura pressed up to him. 
Fritz w'as wilting something in the hand of the 
lady, most likely her name, for she nodded 
carelessly ; then he WTOte again in her hand, 
pointing to himself. Probably it was his own 
name, for the lady nodded, and Laura thought 
that she could see under her veil that she was 
laughing. Laura heard the Doctor speaking to 
the lady of a role in which he had lately seen 
her on the stage, and he addressed her with 
the familiar “ thou.” That was, indeed, the 
masquerade right, but it w^as not necessary. 
The Doctor expressed his pleasure that the artist 
in the balcony scene had so well uuderstod how 
to represent the glowing feeling of passion in 
such difficult metre. The red mantle was atten- 
tive, and, devoting herself entirely to the Doctor, 
began to speak of the role. The lady spoke for 


132 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


Bome time, and then again Doctor Romeo still 
longer. The actress stepped back some steps to 
a pillar ; the Doctor followed her, and Laura 
Baw that the red mantle shortly dismissed some 
other gentleman, and again turned to the 
Doctor. At last the artiste seated herself quite 
behind the pillar, where she was little seen by 
strangers, and the Doctor stood near her, lean- 
ing against it, and continued the conversation. 
Laura, who had also placed herself near the 
pillar, heard how animated it w'as. The subject 
was passion. Now it was not the passion which 
one felt for the other, but that of the stage ; but 
even that was more than a friend of the Doctor 
could approve of. 

Laura stepped hastily forward, placed herself 
near Fritz Hahn, and raised her finger warn- 
ingly. The Doctor looked astonished at the 
bat, and shrugged his shoulders. Then she 
seized his hand, and wrote his name in it. The 
Doctor made a bow, upon which she held out 
her hand. How could ne know her in that 
disfiguring disguise ? He gave decided proof 
of his ignorance, and turned again to the lady 
in the red mantle. Laura stepped back, and 
coloured up to her temples under the mask. It 
was in anger with herself, for she was the 
unfortunate one who had brought him into this 
danger ; and moreover she had come in such a 
disguise that he could not recognise her. 

She returned to her mother, who had at last 
been fortunate enough to find a companion in 
the god-mother, and had got into a corner of 
the room in order to exchange observations on 
the bodily development of the baptised little 
Fritz. Laura placed herself next her mother, 
and looked with interest on the dancing masks. 
Suddenly she sprang up, for Fritz Hahn was 
dancing wdth the lady in the red mantle. Was 
it possible ? He bad long abjured dancing. 
More than once he had rallied Laura about her 
pleasure in it ; even she herself had at times, 
when sitting befoi’e her private album, thought 
how childish this monotonous whirling move- 
ment was, and how incompatible with a nobler 
conception of life; — now he was turning himself 
round like a tcp. 

“ What do I see ? ” cried her mother ; “ is 
not that ? and is it not the red ? ” 

“ It is indifferent with whom he dances, 
interrupted Laura, in order to avoid hearing 
the hated confirmation of it. But she knew 
Fritz Hahn, and she was aware there was some 
signification in this waltz. Julia pleased him 
much, otherwise he would never have done it ; 
he had never shown her this mark of distinc- 
tion. The old comic actor of the city theatre 
approached them as pantaloon ; he had at last 
found out the two influential ladies ; he tripped 
up to them, made grotesque obeisances, and 
began to amuse the mamma with his tittle- 
tattle. One of his first remarks was, “It is 
said that young Hahn will go upon the stage ; 
he is studying his role as lover with our prima- 
donna.” 

Laura turned with annoyance from the flat 
remark. Her last hope was the time of un- 
masking ; she impatiently awaited the moment. 
At last there was a pause, and the masks fell 
off. She took her mother’s arm to go through 
the room •to greet their acquaintances. It 


seemed a long time till she got into the neigh- 
bourhood of I'ritz Hahn, and he did not once look 
at her. Laura made a movement with her hand 
to touch him gently ; but she pressed her 
fingers firmly, and passed by fixing her eyes 
upon him. Now at last he recognised her, as 
he ought to have done long before. She saw a 
look of pleasure in his countenance, and her 
heart became lighter. She stopped whilst he 
exchanged some civil sentences with her mother, 
and she expected that he would acknowledge 
that she had already greeted him, but he did 
not speak a word of the occurrence. Had so 
many written in his hand that he could not 
bear in mind one poor little bat ? When he 
turned to her he only praised the ball music. 
This was all the notice he thought her worthy 
of. His conversation with Julia had been ‘the 
free interchange of mind, but to her he only 
addressed a few indifferent sentences. Her 
countenance assumed the gloomy Hummel look, 
as she answered, “You used to have little 
sympathy with the great instrument to which 
the puppets dance.” 

The Doctor looked embarrassed, bat laughed, 
and asked her for the next dance. This was 
bad tact. Laura answered bitterly, “ When the 
grey bat was so bold as to flutter about Romeo, 
he had no dance free for her ; now her eyes are 
blinded by the bright light.” She bowed her 
head like a queen, took her mother’s arm, aud 
left him behind. 

What followed was fruitless heartache. The 
Doctor danced once more with the lady in the 
mantle. Laura observed how alluringly she 
smiled on him, and he danced with no one else. 
Of her he took no further notice ; and she was 
glad when soon after Hummel came up to them 
and said : “ It was difficult to find you. When 
I inquired of the people for the two ugliest 
tinsel dresses, you were pointed out to me. I 
shall be glad if to-morrow morning you awake 
without headache. We have had enough of 
pleasure to-day.” 

Laura was glad when the carriage arrived at 
home ; she rushed up to her room, hastily took 
her book out of the drawer, and wrote rapidly, 

“ Cursed be my deed, cursed be my wicked joke ! 

I have sown dragon’s teeth before me ; a host of 
enemies in arms arise, and threaten to pierce 
with sharp steel my warm heart.” She wiped 
away the tears which rolled upon her paper. 

The bright' light of the following morning 
exercised its tranquilHsing influence on her 
fluttering thoughts. Over there Fritz Hahn 
^yas still lying in his bed. The good youth had 
tired himself yesterday. Many drops of water 
might still flow into the sea before friend Fritz 
would determine to unite his fate with a tragic 
actress. She brought out her supply of old 
songs and selected one ; it was a very jolly one : 
the cockchafer’s marriage — in v-hich the cock- 
chafer on the hedge asks in marriage the youno* 
maiden fly. Many little birds occupy them- 
selves seriously about the marriage ; but at last 
it is put an end to by some disreputable conduct 
of the bridegroom. 

“Good,” said Laura; “ my cockchafer Fritz, 
before you marry the frivolous fly Juliet other 
birds shall have their say about it.” 

She folded up the song, and added to it « 


VIELLIEBCHEN. 


133 


little note : “ You guess wrongly. The person 
who sends this to you is never called Julia.” 
As she closed the letter she said to herself, with 
more composure : “ If he does not now perceive 
that he was mistaken, one cannot think much of 
his judgment.” 

The Doctor was sitting a little stupefied over 
his books, when his eye fell upon this letter. 
He cast a look upon the cockchafer marriage ; 
an old single impression of it had never yet come 
across him, and in rapidly glancirg over it he saw 
that many verses were quite diflerent from our 
current text. Then he took the note, and en- 
deavoured to understand the oracle. Now it 
was clear that the actress was the sender, for 
who else could know that he had accosted her 
as Julia, and that they had conversed long about 
this role? But what could the words mean, 

“ You guess wrongly ? ** But even on this 
point his eyes were blinded j he had maintained 
that the representation of passion could only be 
to a certain extent possible to an actor if he had 
never in his life experienced such feeling. This 
the actress denied, and they had endeavoured 
to come to an agreement about it j her words, 
therefore, clearly meant that she had im- 
personated the Julia without ever having felt a 
great passion. Now this was a confession that 
showed great passion — nay, perhaps still more. 
The Doctor sat long looking at the note j but he 
felt now pretty sure who was his correspondent, 
and the discovery did not give him pleasure. 
Though upon rational grounds he had struggled 
with himself, it had always been Laura’s eyes 
that beamed upon him from the paper, though 
undoubtedly quite another look from that which 
she had favoured him with yesterday. He laid 
the cockchafer marriage with the other songs, 
and again asked himself whether he ought to 
continue the correspondence. At last he put up 
as an answer one of the worthless trifles of his 
portfolio, and did not write anything in addi- 
tion. 

Some days after, when the Professor and Use 
were walking through the streets, they passed 
by the dwelling of the actress ; both saw their 
friend standing at the window of the heroine, 
and he nodded to them from within. 

“ How has he made this acquaintance ? ” 
asked the Professor ; “ is not the young lady 
considered very fast ? ” 

“ I fear so,” answered Use, discomposed. 

Now Frau Knips (who dwelt opposite to the 
actress) came running in to Madame Hummel 
with the linen still damp, and told her that on 
the previous evening a large basket of cham- 
pagne had been taken to the Fraulein, and that 
in the night the loud singing of a wild set had 
been heard over the whole street, and that young 
Herr Hahn had been amongst them ! 

On Sunday the comic actor had been invited 
to dinner at Herr Hummel’s, and one of his first 
anecdotes was concerning a jovial society in 
which he had been at the actress’s. With the 
malice which is often to be found in fellow- 
artists towards each other, he added, “ She has 
found a new admirer, the son of him over the 
way. How the father’s money will come to the 
support of art.” Herr Hummel opened his eyes 
and shook his head, but only said, “ So Fritz 
Hahn also has gone among the actors and be- 


come dissipated : he is the last that I should 
have suspected of this.” 

Frau Hummel endeavoured to bring to mind 
her recollections of the ball, and found in them 
a sorrowful confirmation of this, but Laura, 
who had been sitting very pale and silent, broke 
forth vehemently to the actor ; 

“ I will not suffer that you should speak of 
the Doctor in such a tone at our table. We 
know him well enough to be aware that he is in 
conduct and principles a noble man. He is 
master of his own actions, and if he likes the 
Fraulein and visits her sometimes, a third 
pe^’sen has no right to say anything. It is a 
malicious calumny to say that he goes there 
with any dishonourable intentions, and gives 
money that does not belong to him.” 

The comic actor, through fright, got a crumb 
of bread in his lying throat, and burst out in 
the most violent stage cough he had ever in- 
dulged in, but the mother, as an excuse for the 
genial man, replied: 

“ You have sometimes yourself felt that the 
conduct of the Doctor was not quite the thing.” 

“ If I have said anything of the kind in foolish 
ill temper,” cried Laiu-a, " it was an injustice, 
and I am very sorry for it ; I have only the ex- 
cuse that I never meant it ill naturedly. But 
from others I will hear no injurious talk of our 
neighbour.” She rose from table and left the 
room. The actor vindicated himself to the 
mother, but Herr Hummel took his wine-glass 
and said, peering after his daughter : 

“ In the dusk she is scarcely to be distinguished 
from me.” 

The Doctor was little troubled about his own 
misdeeds. He had paid a visit to his partner 
after the Ball, the occasion on which he had 
been seen at the window. One of his school 
friends, now second tenor at the theatre, had 
come and settled with the actress to arrange a 
little picnic on her approaching birthday, and 
Fritz had been invited to take part in it. It 
was a merry society, and the Doctor had found 
much entertainment among the light-winged 
birds of the stage, and had rejoiced with the 
benevolence of a wise man at the good tact 
which was visible amidst the easy style of their 
intercourse. There had also been much intelli- 
gent conversation in the course of the evening, 
and he went home with the impression that 
even for a person like himself it was good to be 
for once associated with these lively artists. 
He had endeavoured that same evening, by a 
stratagem, to ascertain his unknown corre- 
spondent. When they were singing small songs, 
and with lively grace reciting comic rhymes, he 
had brought the cockchafer song on the tapis, 
and had begun to sing it : 

“ The cockchai’r sat on the hedge, brum, brum ; 

The fly sat beneath, hum hum, hum hum.” 

Some had joined in ; the lady in the mantle did 
not, however, know the song, but only a similar 
one from an old role; and when the bass took 
up the melody from the Doctor, and in the fol- 
lowing verses poui-trayed each of the birds as 
they entered by gestures and comic changes of 
the melody, the hostess laughed, and without 
any embarrassment undertook to learn the song, 
so that the Doctor again became very doubtful, 
and on returning home remained standing on 


134 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


the threshold and looking significantly at the 
house of Herr Hummel. If any one had accu- 
rately investigated why, after this cockchafer 
song, the Doctor became noisy and gay like the 
others, he would perhaps have discovered that 
the unembarrassed air of the actress had lifted 
a load from his heart. 

But this helped him little with respect to the 
brum and hum of the neighbours. The Park 
Street had latterly accorded to their Fritz Hahn 
the highest respect ; his picture had been placed 
among the serious men of learning in their 
albums, whom they daily contemplated and 
spoke of. Now strange features had appeared 
iu the well-known face, and the street could not 
bear that one of their children should appear 
otherwise than he had been wont to do. There- 
fore there was much whispering and shaking of 
the head, and this came to the knowledge of 
Herr and *Frau Hahn, and, not last, of the 
Doctor. He laughed at it, but it was not quite 
agreeable to him. 

“ Tanhauser, noble knight, you lie under the 
bondage of Venus. I myself have been the 
wicked Pope Urban ; I have heaped shame and 
sorrow upon you.” Thus did liaura lament in 
her room, but she concealed her great sorrow, 
and did not speak a word concerning the danger 
of the Doctor even to Use; and when she once 
slightly alluded to the new intimacy of their 
friend, Laura broke the thread of her em- 
broidery, and said, whilst the blood rushed to 
her heart : 

“ Wliy should not the Doctor go over there ? 
He is a young man for whom it is good to see a 
variety of society ; he sits too much in his room 
and with his parents. If I had been a man like 
him, I should long ago have tied up my bundle 
and gone into the world, for this narrow sphere 
weakens the energies and makes people pedantic. 

At the tea-table one of the company present 
turned the conversation on the actress, and 
shrugged his shoulders over her free manners. 
Laura felt what must be the Doctor’s pain; there 
sat poor Fritz, obliged to listen to the derogatory 
judgment — his intimate acquaintances were 
silent, and looked significantly at him ; his posi- 
tion was terrible, for every , fool made use of the 
Fraulein’s unprotected position to show himself 
as a Cato. 

“I wonder,” she cried, “the gentlemen should 
judge so severely the little freaks of an actress. 
A lady of that profession should be treated with 
great consideration, for she is deprived of all the 
protection and all the pleasure which we have in 
our families. I am convinced that she is a wor- 
thy and delicate-minded maiden.” 

The Doctor looked thankfully at her and con- 
firmed her words. He did not observe it, but it 
had happened as in his child’s story ; Laura had 
bent down to his feet and picked up the pocket- 
handkerchief. 

But she had still more to bear. Tlie month of 
March began his theatrical tricks in the world : 
first from his grey clouds he had cast a veil of 
snow over the landscape ; icicles hung from the 
roofs and white crystals on the trees, and the 
wild storm howled all around. Suddenly all was 
changed. A mild south wind blew, the buds of 
the trees swelled, and the fresh green made its 
appearance in the meadow; the children ran about 


in the wood and carried home large bunches 
of spring flowers, and people, rejoicing in the 
change, passed in unceasing pilgrimage through 
the Park Street into the sunshine. 

Even Herr Hummel felt the presage of the 
spring. He gave expression to this annually by 
mixing the colours for his boat, and taking a 
pleasure walk on a well-chosen afternoon with 
his wife and daughter to a distant coflee -garden. 
This festive journey w.as a very moderate plea- 
sure to Lam’a, for Herr Hummel walked with 
solemn steps in front of the ladies ; he rejoiced 
entirely to himself in the renewal of old nature, 
and only occasionally favoured his ladies with a 
remark over his shoulder when he was annoyed 
at a change in the vegetation. But Laura knew 
that her father thought much of this March plea- 
sure, and therefore went with her mother behind 
him to a solitary village, where Herr Hummel 
smoked his pipe, fed the hens, scolded the waiter, 
and talked with the landlord about the crops and 
the sun ; and he on his side rejoiced in the good 
aspect of his old acquaintance, Herr Hummel. 
Herr Hummel, who was usually by no means 
averse to society, loved now to be alone with 
nature, and hated the place of resort of the citi- 
zens in the country, where the aroma of new 
cakes and fritters destroyed the perfume of na- 
ture. 

When he entered the coflee-garden with his 
ladies, he saw with dissatisfaction that other 
guests were already there. He threw an indig- 
nant glance on the gay society which liad taken 
possession of his usual place, and perceived there 
the young actress, as well as other members of 
the theatre, and with them the son of his adver- 
sary. Then he turned to his daughter and said, 
blinking his eyes : 

“ To-day j'ou will be well satisfied : here you 
have, besides the enjoyments of nature, those of 
art.” 

It was a terribly hard trial to which Laura’s 
strength was subjected ; but she raised her head 
proudly, and passed with her parents to another 
corner of the garden. There she placed herself 
with her back to the strang'^rs. Nevertheless, 
she learnt more of their proceedings than was 
good for her composure. She heard laughing, 
and the merry hum of the cockchafer party ; 
the less she saw of them the more painful was 
the noise, and every sound came to them in the 
deep stillness, and her mother’s ears and eyes 
also were intent on the other society. After a 
time the loud conversation of the artists broke 
off*, and she heard her name spoken in low tones. 
Immediately afterwards the gravel crunched be- 
hind her, and she felt that the Doctor was at 
her back. 

He approached the table, greeted the father 
silently, made some friendly remarks to the 
mother about the weather, and was just on the 
point of turning to Laura, with an embarrass- 
ment which she perceived, when Herr Hummel, 
who had till then borne silently the intrusion of 
the enemy, took his pipe from his mouth, and 
began, with gentle voice : 

“Is M'hat I hear of you possible, Herr 
Doctor ? — that you wish to chaime your mode 
of life ?” 

Laura poked her parasol vehemently into the 
gravel. 


VIELLIEBCHEN, 


135 


“ I know nothing of it,” replied the Doctor, 
coolly. 

“ It is reported,” continued Herr Hummel, 

that you wish to bid adieu to your books and 
become a dramatic artist. If this should be the 
case, I beg of you to think kindly of my little 
business. I have every kind of artistic head- 
gear : for lovers fine beaver, M’ith galoon for 
lackeys, and if ever you act the punchinello, a 
white felt hat. But you would rather be called 
clown, perhaps. It is now a good career ; 
buffoon is out of fashion ; one shall address you 
as Herr Clown.” 

I have no intention of going on the stage,” 
replied the Doctor ; “ but if ever the idea should 
occur to me, I shall not come to you for the ar- 
tistic work of your manufactory, but for instruc- 
tion in what you consider a good mode of life. 
I shall then at least know upon the stage what 
is not befitting men of good breeding.” 

He greeted the ladies, and went away. 

“ Always Humboldt,” said Herr Hummel, 
looking after him. 

Laura did not move, but her dark eyebrows 
were knit so threateningly that Herr Hummel 
could not help perceiving it. 

“ I am quite of your opinion,” he said, plea- 
santly, to his daughter. “ It is a great pity that 
he is spoilt by belonging to these straw-hat 
people, but now there is no hope for him.” 

He then took a bit of cake and offered it to 
a lion-dog, wliich was sitting on its hind legs 
begging, and moving its paws. 

“ Billy ! ” cried a woman’s voice through the 
garden. 

But the dog Billy did not attend, but con- 
tinued to show his devotion to Herr Hummel, 
who fed the little one, having a greater tender- 
ness for dogs than for men. 

The actress came up hastily. 

“ I beg of you not to give the naughty animal 
any cake, — there are almonds in it,” said the 
actress, keeping off the dog. 

“ A pretty dog,” replied Herr Hummel, sit- 
ting down. 

“ If you did but know how clever he is,” said 
the Fraulein ; “ he knows all kinds of tricks. 
Show the gentleman what you have learnt.” 

She held her para.sol out : Billy sprang 
eagerly over it, and bounded into the lap of 
Herr Hummel, where he wagged his tail and 
tried to lick his face. 

“He wants to kiss you,” said the actress. 
“ You must be proud of that, for he does not do 
it to every one.” 

“ It is not every one who would like it,” re- 
plied Herr Hummel, stroking the little one. 

“ Do not be troublesome to the gentleman, 
Billy,” said the Fraulein, reprovingly. 

Herr Hummel stood up and presented the 
dog to her, which would not desist from kissing, 
and kept licking the face of the householder. 

“ He is simple-hearted,” said Herr Hummel, 
“ and is the same colour as my dog.” 

The Fraulein coaxed the little one. 

“The rogue is very much spoilt; he creeps 
into my muff when I go to the theatre, and I 
am obliged to take him with me. I was lately 
frightened to death on his account ; for whilst I 
W’as lamenting as Clara among the citizens, 
Billy had run out of the tiring-room, and was 


wagging his tail and standing on his 1 ir.d legs 
before me.” 

“ It must have been a striking by -play,” 
began Frau Hummel. 

“ I moved about more than usual,” replied the 
actress, and at every turn in the scene I had to 
call out, ‘ Lie down, Billy.’ ” 

“ Good,” nodded Herr Hummel ; “ always 
presence of mind.” 

“ To-day I am thankful to the naughty ani- 
mal,” continued the Fraulein, “ for he has pro- 
cured me here in the country the pleasure of 
making acquaintance with my neighbours. Herr 
Hummel, I believe ?” 

Herr Hummel bowed stiffly. The actress 
turned to the ladies with a curtsy, who an- 
swered her gi'ceting silently. 

There was much in the lady that pleased 
Herr Hummel. She was pretty, had a gay and 
cheerful countenance, and wore something on 
her head with which he was personally ac- 
quainted. He therefore laid hold of a chair, 
and said, with a second bow : 

“ Will you not have the kindness to take a 
seat ?” 

The stranger nodded to him, and, turning to 
Laura, said : 

“ I rejoice at last to be able to approach yon. 
You are no stranger to me, and you have often 
given me great pleasure, and I am glad to be 
able to-day to thank you for it.” 

“ Where was it ?” asked Laura, embarrassed. 

“ Where you would certainly never have 
thought of it,” replied the other. “I have 
shaiq) eyes, and perceive over the lamps every 
face of the spectators. You cannot think how 
painful that is to me sometimes. As you have 
a fixed place, it has been a great refi-eshment to 
me to rest my eyes on your features and observe 
their intelligent expression ; and more than 
once, without your knowing it, I have acted for 
you alone.” 

“ Ha ! ” thought Laui-a, “ it is Venus.” But 
she felt a chord had been struck which gave out 
a pure tone. She told the actress how unM'il- 
lingly she ever missed any of the plays in which 
she acted, and that in their house the first ques- 
tion, when they received the new bill of the 
theatre, was whether the Fraulein was going 
to act ?” 

This gsive the mother an opportunity of enter- 
ing into the conversation. The actress spoke 
warmly of the kindness with which she had been 
everywhere received. “For the greatest charm 
of our art is, the secret friends which we gain by 
our acting; people whom otherwise one never 
perhaps sees, whose names one does not know, 
yet who take an interest in our life. Tlien, if 
by accident one becomes acquainted with these 
kindly strangers, it is a rich compensation for all 
the sufferings of our vocation, among which the 
intrusive patronage of common persons is, per- 
haps, the greatest.” 

It W’as clear she could not reckon the patron- 
age of the Doctor among these sufferings. 

Whilst the ladies were thus talking together, 
and Herr Hummel listening with approbation, 
some gentlemen approached the table. Frau 
Hummel greeted politely the second tenor, who 
had once sung to her at the godmother’s house, 
and the w’orthy father of the stage, who knew 


136 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


Horr Hummel at the club, began a conversation 
with him concerning the building of a new 
theatre. On this subject Hummel had, as a 
citizen, a vei’y decided opinion, in which the 
worthy father quite agreed. 

In this way the two parties mingled together, 
and the table of Herr Hummel became a centre 
round which the children of Thalia thronged. 
Whilst the actress was talking quite frankly 
and housewifely with Frau Hummel of the in- 
conveniences of her dwelling, Laura looked at 
the Doctor. He was standing some steps from 
the party, leaning against a tree, looking con- 
templatively before him. Laura moved sud- 
denly up to him, and began speaking rapidly : 
“My father has insulted you. I beg your par- 
don.” 

The Doctor looked up. “ It does not pain 
me,” said he, kindly ; “ I know his way.” 

“I have talked to her,” continued Laura, 
with trembling voice ; “ she is clever and 
amiable, and has an irresistible friendliness.” 

“ Who ? ” asked the Doctor ; “ the actress ?” 

“ Do not attempt concealment with me,” con- 
tinued Laura; “that is unnecessary; there is 
no one on earth who wishes for your happiness 
more than I do. You need not trouble yoimself 
about others shaking their heads ; if you are 
sure of the love of the Fraulein, all the rest is a 
secondary consideration.^’ 

The Doctor became more and more astonished. 
“ But I do not wish to marry the Fraulein.” 

“ Do not deny it, Fritz Hahn ; that ill be- 
comes your truthful nature,” rejoined the 
vehement Laura ; “ I see how well the Fraulein 
suits you. Since I have seen her, I feel con- 
vinced that she is capable of appreciating all 
that is good and great. Do not hesitate, but 
venture courageously to seek her heart. But, 
Fritz, I have one anxiety about you. Your 
feelings are warm and your judgment sound, 
but you cling too firmly to that which sur- 
rounds you. I tremble, therefore, lest you 
should make yourself unhappy by not coming 
to a decision, at the right moment, which might 
appear strange to your family. I know you 
from my early childhood, and I am sure that 
your danger always has been to forget yourself 
for others. Thus you might pass a self-sacri- 
ficing existence, which I cannot bear to think 
of. For I desire that all happiness should be 
your portion, as your upright heart deserves.” 
Tears coursed down her cheeks, as she looked 
lovingly at him. 

Every word that she spoke sounded to the 
Doctor like the trilling of a lark and the 
chirrup of the cricket. He spoke softly ; “ I 
do not love the Fraulein ; I have never thought 
<)f uniting her future with mine.” 

Laura drew back, and a bright colour suffused 
her face. 

“ It is a passing acquaintance, nothing more 
either for her or me ; her life belongs to art, 
and can hardly adapt itself to quiet domestic 
life. If I could venture to seek a heart for 
myself, it would not be hers, but that of 
another.” He looked towards the table, from 
whence at that moment there came a loud 
augh, evidently of Herr Hummel, and spoke 
the last words so low that they scarcely 
reached Laura’s ear, and he looked sorrowfully 1 


down on the buds of the elder bush in which 
the young blossoms still lay concealed. 

Laura stood immovable, as if touched by the 
wand of a magician, but the tears still con- 
tinued to flow down her cheeks. She was very 
near touching with her lips the cherry of her 
Violliebchen. 

Then the merry cockchafers hummed round 
her, the actress nodded smilingly to her, and 
her father called her — the fairy tale was at an 
end. Laura heard the Fraulein say triumph- 
antly to the Doctor, “ He has ottered me a 
chair, he is no growling bear, he was very good 
to Billy.” 

When Fritz returned home, he threw off hi.s 
hat and great-coat, rushed to his writing-table, 
and took up the little letters in the unknown 
hand. “ It is she,” he cried, aloud, “ fool that I 
was to doubt it for one moment.” He read all 
the letters again, and nodded at each. It w-as 
his ow’n high-minded, noble maiden, who had 
before disguised herself now she had shown 
herself to him as she really was. He w'aited 
impatiently for the hour w'hen he should meet 
her at his friend’s. She entered late, greeted 
him quietly, and w'as softer and more silent 
than usual. When she turned to him 
she spoke seriously, as to a trusted friend. 
This mild repose suited her w’ell. Now she 
showed herself to him as she was, a rich mind 
f\fll of enthusiastic feeling. Prudishness and 
teazing humours had only been the shell which 
had concealed the sw'eet kernel. The quiet 
caution, too, with which she concealed her 
feelings among the friends delighted him. 
When the next song should come, then she 
would speak to him as she felt, or she would 
give him permission to write openly to her. 
The next morning the Doctor counted the 
minutes till the arrival of the postman. He 
tore open the door and hastened to meet the 
man. Fritz received a letter, he opened the 
cover impatiently, there was not a line from the 
correspondent; he unfolded the old printed 
sheet, and read the w-ords of a coarse song : 

“ Heigh-ho ! Add to the roast pig young 
chickens ! After that w'e may have a fresh free 
drink. Fetch the wine, pour it out ; drink, my 
dear little brothers. Everything to-day must 
be spent in gormandising.” 

So the honest, simple-minded Doctor asked 
again : Is it she ? or is it possible that it is not ? 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Any one washing to have a good idea of the 
Professor should see him sitting surrounded by 
students, the mature man amidst blossoming 
youth, the teacher with his admiring scholars. 
For the greatest privilege of the academical 
teacher is, that he not only exercises a personal 
influence on the present, but ennobles the souls of 
men by his learning in later generations. Out 
of the many who listen to lectures a choice 
circle attaches itself to the learned man, the tie 
of personal intercourse connects the teacher and 
the scholar, lightly formed but lasting; for 
what attracts one to the other, and often makes 
the stranger after a few hours an intimate 


AMONG THE STUDENTS. 


137 


fi'icnd, is the pleasant consciousness that both 
value the same thing. 

This bond, so charming and profitable for 
both parties, is the noble poetry which learning 
grants to its votaries. Strangers and men of 
another generation judge the value of a man 
only by his books, but however valuable may be 
the products of a man’s mind thus transmitted, 
it gives but an imperfect picture of it to later 
times far greater is the working of the living 
fountain on the souls of those who reeeive know- 
ledge from the lips and eyes of the teacher. 
-Tjiey are taught, not only by the substance of 
his instructions, but still more by his method of 
investigating and expounding, and, most of all, 
by his character and the original style of his 
discoui’se. For these warm the hearts of the 
hearers, allure their minds, and inspire them 
with respect. Such an impression of the human 
mind, which leaves its traces on many, is often 
more important for the character of young men 
than the subject matter of the lessons they have 
I'eceived. The character of the teacher works 
in the scholars ; new life is infused into them, 
and they imbibe not only his excellences, but 
also, sometimes, his peculiarities and weak- 
nesses. In each heaier the characteristics of 
the master assume a different aspect, yet in each 
the influence of his mind is apparent, even in 
minute particulars. The lessons which Felix 
gave to his wife were not the only ones given in 
his house. One evening in every week belonged 
to his students. There came, first, a few who 
» wished to ask questions and obtain infoiunatiou 
for their work; afterwards a greater number 
J*' assembled. Use’s room was also opened, and 
Gabriel brought tea and simple fare, and an 
hour passed in easy conversation, till, at last, 
the most intimate withdrew into the study of 
the teacher, and clustered round him in numbers 
almost too great for the narrow room. Here, 
also, the conversation was vai-ied ; sometimes a 
humorous account of what they had experienced, 
or discussions in which the Professor knew how 
to make his young friends take an active part, 
and, interspersed with these, rapid decisions 
upon men and books, in short propositions and 
answers, such as are natural to those who can 
discover long melodies in fleeting touches. In 
these lessons Felix disclosed his inmost soul 
with an openness which he did not show to his 
colleagues. He spoke of himself and others 
without reserve, and entered pleasantly on what 
he had most at heart. 

Use was no stranger to these intimate re- 
unions. Those who assisted in them, whether 
serious men, old students, or young doctors, 
found pleasure in the presence of the distin- 
guished lady of the house, who, in her simple 
way, took part in their intercourse. The year 
before she had shown her intimacy with the 
Odyssey, when she challenged the gentlemen 
to the enjoyment of a leg of w'ild boar, and ex- 
pressed the benevolent wish that they would not 
disdain to partake of the meal. After that she 
was always called in the circle Frau Penelope, 
and she knew that this nickname spread among 
the students beyond the walls of her house. 

Use had her favourites among the young men. 
Of this number was a worthy student, not the 
most distinguished, but one of the most indus- 


trious of the Professor’s scholars. It was her 
countryman, who had first shown her that 
students had tender feelings in their breasts. 
This student had, during the last year, worked 
successfully in filling his internal crater with 
college treatises. His lyrics he had almost given 
up ; for when the Professor sent him back his 
poems, he had felt remorse and humbly begged 
pardon. Since that, having obtained through 
Felix a good scholarship, he took a less misan- 
thropic view of citizen life ; he proved himself 
a faithful and attached companion, and now 
bore the honourable title of Doctoraudus, which, 
according to our grammarians, signifies a man 
who should, or must, be made a doctor ; he had 
also attained a certain position among the 
students ; he bore m the great Arminian Associa- 
tion an honourable office, always wore their 
coloured caps, and was reckoned one of the 
privileged sages who, on dz’inking evenings, 
were free from onerous duties, and filled up by 
serious conversation the pauses in which the 
stormy youths took breath. 

On one of these evenings, the conversation 
in Use’s room became general, and threw out 
scientific bubbles. An interesting manuscript 
had been found in a distant library in South 
Germany. There was much talk about the dis- 
covery and the editor, and Felix enumerated 
with satisfaction, to some of his select circle, all 
the similar discoveries which had been made 
during the last twenty years. Then our student, 
who had just received a cup of tea from Frau 
Use, and was stirring it with his spoon, said, 
good-humouredly : “ May there not be many 
things found in the neighbourhood ? In my 
country there is an old chest, which contains 
books and papers from the monastery at Eossau. 
It is not impossible that there may be something 
valuable there.” 

Thus spoke the student, stirring his spoon, 
like a boy who applies a bm-ning match to a 
bombshell. 

The Professor sprang up from his chair, and 
cast such a fiery look at the student that he was 
frightened, and set down his cup quickly in order 
not to spiU it. “ Where is the chest ?” said the 
Professor. 

“Where is it? Ido not know,” replied the 
student, surprised. “ I was told of it, some 
years ago, by a countryman, who was born in 
the district of Rossau ” — the student mentioned 
the name, and Use knew the family — “but it 
must be in our principality, for he lived there 
as tutor in several places.” 

“ Was he a philologist ?” asked an older 
scholar, as eager as the Professor. 

“ He was a theologian,” replied our student. 

An expression of regret passed through the 
room. 

“ Then the account would be very uncertain,” 
concluded the critic. 

“Did the man see the chest himself?” asked 
the Professor. 

“ I am not certain of that either,” replied the 
student; “I did not then know the value of 
this communication. Put he must, I think, 
have seen it himself, for I remember he said it 
was thickly plated with iron.” 

“ Do procure us information about this chest,” 
cried the Professor. He paced eagerly up and 



138 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


down the room, the students making way for 
liim respectfully. ** The account is of more im- 
portance than "l can now tell you,” began the 
Professor, coming up to the student; “endea- 
vour, in the first place, to recall what you have 
heard about it. Hid your acquaintance see the 
chest open ?” 

“ When I call all to mind,” replied the stu- 
dent, “ I am inclined to think that he himself 
saw some old monastic things lying in it.” 

“ Then it was no longer closed ?” inquired 
the Professor. “And where is your friend, 
now ?” 

“Last year he went to America, with a 
weaver’s daugliter. I do not know where he 
now resides; but it may be ascertained from his 
relations.” 

Again a murmur of vexation passed through 
the room. 

“ Endeavour to discover the residence of the 
man ; write to him, and ask for accurate infor- 
mation,” exclaimed the Professor; “you can do 
me no greater service.” 

The student promised to do all in the power 
of man. When the party broke up, Gabriel 
conveyed to the student a secret invitation to 
dinner the next day. Use knew that it would 
be agreeable to her Felix to have the company 
of one who had even an acquaintance who had 
seen the chest that contained the books of 
llossau, among which, it was possible, the 
manuscript of Tacitus might lie. 

She, however, did not hear with any satisfac- 
tion of the secret chest, for Use was, alas, in the 
matter of the manuscript, still an unbeliever ; 
she had sometimes vexed her husband by her 
indifference on the subject, and, after the misfor- 
tune of Struvelius, avoided every mention of the 
lost treasure. She had, besides, special reasons 
for it. She knew how much every thought and 
discussion concerning it excited her Felix. He 
always became eager, and his eyes shone as in 
fever. It is true he controlled himself after a 
few minutes, and laughed at his own anxiety ; 
but these outbreaks of secret feeling were not 
agreeable to the wife, for she saw by these 
sudden flashings that the thought of the manu- 
script still fretted the soul of her dear husband, 
and suspected that in secret he often dreamt of it, 
and entertained secret designs against the walls 
of her father’s house. 

Our student had now aroused the storm. 
Later the Doctor was called, and there was a 
long discussion and dispute. Use was glad that 
the Doctor did not attach much importance to 
the chest, and by sensible suggestions brought 
the Professor at last to make humorous remarks 
upon his own eager pursuit of the chase. 

When on the following day at dinner the stu- 
dent produced the letter which he had written, 
as a sign of his zeal, the Professor treated the 
matter with more composure. It is an un- 
certain account,” he said, “even if the relator 
speak the truth ; he may be in error concerning 
individual particulars, or even the name of the 
monastery.” When afterwards information came 
from the house of the student that the theologian 
bad settled himself in the neighbouihood of 
Wisconsin as apothecary, and that the student’s 
letter had been sent to an uncertain address in a 
distant country, the whirlpool which the men- 


tion of the chest had excited had moderated 
itself into small waves. 

Great advantage arose from this circumstance 
to our student ; for the Professor imparted the 
account to the Chamberlain, and pointed out to 
him that in this chest there might be things of 
very great value. The Chamberlain had for- 
merly for some years held the post of castellan, 
and knew the ventory of some of the royal 
castles, and was aware that there was nothing 
of that kind to be found in any of them ; but as 
the student appeared to him to be a favourite of 
the family, he took notice of the young man, 
and offered to present him as a fellow-country- 
man to the Hereditary Prince. This was done. 
The consequence of the introduction was that 
our student was invited one evening on which 
the Prince received other academical acquain- 
tances. 

It was an anxious evening for the student, 
and the Arminian had various reasons to be sus- 
picious. For this year there had been violent 
storms among the students. It was the quarrel 
between the corps of Markomanns and the So- 
ciety of Armiuiaus which had raised the tempest. 
The final cause of the storm was curious and in- 
structive to those who watch the secret links of 
earthly events. The discord which had sun- 
dered the Professors who were the representa- 
tives of ancient learning, the struggle between 
Werner and Struvelius, had not at the time 
much excited the academic youth. But, shortly 
afterwards, a song had come forth among the 
students, in which the adventure of Struvelius 
was treated disrespectfully. This song was a 
weak production ; it was in the form of a ballad, 
and adorned with a refrain to this effect : “ Stru- 
velius, Struvelius, away with your Fidibus • * 
he who burns it must come to grief.” The 
author was never discovered. But when one 
considers that this song, so far as can be per- 
ceived from its ludicrous nature, was adverse to 
Struvelius and in honour of Werner, and fur- 
ther, that it first appeared among the Armi- 
nians, and that among these children of Armin 
was one who had lyrical tendencies in the past, 
that this one belonged to Werner’s circle, and 
that in this circle the parchment had been 
treated contemptuously as a Fidibus, one cannot 
suppress the cautious supposition that our stu- 
dent had degraded his departing muse by this 
miserable performance. 

This frivolous song had become familiar with 
the Arminians; its refrain was heard in the 
streets sometimes in the quiet night ; it was 
very vexatious to the Professor, and not less so 
to Werner’s tea-party, but it could not be put 
down by force. The song and its occasion were 
indifferent to the Markomanns and their asso- 
ciates, but they did not sing it because it was a 
drinking song of the Arminians. Just when 
Werner entered upon his rectorate, some stu- 
dents of all parties were sitting together at a 
restaurant ; a Markomann lighted his pipe bv 
the gas flame, and a spark burnt the ribbon of 
his corps ; some of the Arminians sang tb( re- 
frain mockingly. The Markomanns sprang op, 
and commanded silence. Numerous challenges 
were the consequence. But, unfortunately, the 

• Fidibus — allumette. 


AMO^^G THE STUDENTS. 


139 


I matter did not rest there. A number of Armi- 
niaus had drawn up in front of the Marko- 
inann’s lodgings, and had sung the tune in an 
, unfriendly way in the High-street; it led to 

' lamentable conflicts between the parties and the 

city police, and trials and punishments were the 
result. Werner himself had, in private con- 
I ferences with some of the leaders, done what he 
1 could to suppress the unfortunate song, and he 
had succeeded in banishing it at least from the 
streets. But the ill-will remained in their 
hearts. By various unfortunate occurrences, 
it became clear that there was more disunion 
and discordant feeling among the students than 
usual. 

The Arminian revolved all this in his anxious 
1 mind as he hung up his cap in the Prince’s 
■ ante-room beside the smart ones of the great 
Markomann leaders. The evening passed bet- 
ter than he expected. In the august chamber 
the Markomanns observed decorous civility. 
Tlie meeting indeed was of some importance ; 
for this w'as just the time when the University 
commemoration was to be held. But, as often 
happens in the greater affairs of our nation, 
this feast was in danger of being disturbed by 
the quarrel between the clans. Now when the 
Arminian was drinking punch together wdth 
the Markomanns, the Hereditary Prince ex- 
pressed a wish to see for once a festive com- 
memoration; and Beppo, the leader of the 
Markomanns, explained to the Arminian his 
views as to how the quarrel might be adjusted. 
The Arminian offered to convey this proposal to 
his clan. When the Chamberlain hesitated as 
to the participation of the Hereditary Prince in 
tlie commemoration, the Arminian, animated by 
punch and the flow of social talk, assured him 
that his comrades would feel heartily the honour 
done to their festival by the attendance of the 
Hereditary Prince. 

The eflbrts of our student were successful; 
the war-axe was buried, and the academic 
youths prepared for a united festival. A large 
I hall, richly ornamented with the colours of all 
the associations which took part in the com- 
memoration, was laid with long tables. At the 
end stood the presidents in festive attire, with 
their rapiers. On the chaire sat many hundred 
students, ranked according to their associations. 
Among the Markomanns were the Prince and 
his Chamberlain; and the Prince on this 
occasion wore their colours to do them honour. 
The full-toned melody of the songs, accom- 
panied by stirring music, resounded through 
the room; it was a goodly sight to behold so 
many young men, the hope and strength of the 
rising generation, united in festive song, accord- 
ing to the old customs of the University. 
Hitherto the festival had passed without any 
disturbance. The Chamberlain, remarking that 
cheeks were beginning to glow, and the songs 
becoming wilder, so that the music was not 
rapid enough for the beating of the academic 
I pulse, advised the Prince to retire. The Prince, 
himself excited by song and wine, immediately 
rose ; before him walked the collected nobility 
of the Markomanns to make way through the 
surging multitude. They w'cre obliged to push 
through the crowd, w’ho had risen frem their 
(hairs and were buzzing about m confusion. 


Tlien it happened that the Prince was cut off 
from his Court attendants and came in contact 
with an insolent Arminian, who, emboldened 
by wine and embittered by the not very gentle 
touch of the advancing Prince, would not give 
ivay, but barred the passage improperly witli 
his elbows, and continued to smoke his pipe in 
the Prince’s flice. Then the Prince incon- 
siderately pushed against the student, and said, 
“ You are an impudent felloiv,” and the Ar- 
minian spoke the fatal w'ord, of which the 
consequence, according to academical custom, 
is either a duel or loss of honour to the person 
insulted. In a moment he w’as surrounded by 
the Markomanns. The same insulting word 
poured like hail from all sides on the audacious 
offender; but he drew out his tablets mock- 
ingly, and called out, “ One after another ; let 
none of the Court retinue fail ; like master like 
man.” When the throng became greater ho 
cried out to those behind him, “This way, 
Arniinians,” and began in loud bass tones the 
battle-cry of his clan : “ Struvelius, Struvelius, 
away with your Fidibus.” The tumult spread 
through the hall ; over chairs and tables sprang 
the Arminians to the aid of their endangered 
warrior; the insulting w'ords and challenges flew 
in every direction like file-firing. In vain did 
the presidents call them to their places ; in vain 
did the music interpose ; the angry cries of the 
contending parties might be heard above the 
shrill fanfare of the trumpet. The presidents 
hastened together, and, passing along in close 
array, separated the contending parties. But 
the wild uproar was follow^ed by violent discus- 
sions ; the associations were divided ; separate 
groups jeered at one another, and, according to 
the old custom of war, endeavoured gradually to 
drive their opponents to use the most extreme 
words. Some expressions had already been 
used w'hich w’ere forbidden by the social rules 
of the University ; blades w-ere glittering in the 
air, and more than one hand clenched a w'inc 
bottle. The music struck up the song of the 
fatherland, but the measure sounded unac- 
ceptably to the angry crow d, and from all sides 
w as thundered out the cry, “ Have done with 
it.” The frightened musicians were silenced, 
and a fresh outbreak of a tremendous tumult 
seemed inevitable. Then an old leader of the 
Teutons, w'ho knew his people well, sprang up 
into the orchestra, seized a fiddle, seated himself 
in a chair high up as director, and began the 
childish melody, “ Ah, you dear Augustine, all 
is lost.” The music began in plaintive tones. 
Every one looked up, and perceived the res- 
pected man scraping strenuously on the fiddle ; 
the mood of all w as suddenly changed, and a 
general laugh arose. The presidents struck 
their blades on the table so violently that more 
than one broke, and commanded quiet; the 
leaders of all the associations joined together 
and declared the commemoration to be con- 
cluded, and called upon the clans to return 
home peacefully, as they w'ould take the a flair 
in band. The students thronged angrily out of 
the hall, and dispersed to their gathering 
places; but in every group the events of the 
evening were discussed with vehement bitter- 
ness, and hasty embassies passed from one camp 
to another throughout the night. 


140 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


The Chamberlain had extricated the Prince 
Trom the throng after the first encounter. The 
latter was sitting in his room, pale and dis- 
mayed at the consequences likely to ensue from 
the unlucky business. The Chamberlain also 
w’as terrifi^, for the responsibility of this 
scandal would fall on his head. Besides this he 
felt real sympathy for the young Prince, who so 
deeply felt the insult to his honour, and w'ho, 
with a fixed and saddened gaze, received no 
comfort from the assurance that his princely 
honour could suffer no more injury from these 
plebeians than from the sparrows on the tree. 

After a sleepless night the Prince received 
the leaders of the Markomanns, who came to 
announce the decision of their clan. They 
stated that their senior, Beppb, had been chosen 
to represent the Prince in all further dealings 
w ith the Arminians, and he, Beppo, chivalrously 
begged him to concede to him this honour ; he 
added that, in the opinion of his association, the 
Arminians had no claim to the privilege of re- 
ceiving a challenge in consequence of that vile 
insulting w^ord, and if the Prince should refuse 
any further participation in the matter, the 
Markomanns would take aU the consequences on 
themselves. But they could not conceal from 
him that they alone held this view, nay, even 
some of their owm coi-ps had objected. All 
things, therefore, considered, they thought the 
best course w'ould be for the Prince to make 
this concession — the greatness of which they 
would undoubtedly deeply feel — to the acade- 
mical custom. 

The Prince had not yet recovered his self- 
command, so the Chamberlain begged the gentle- 
men to allow his Highness some houi-s for re- 
flection. 

Meanw'hile our student, who had been re- 
strained by the consideration of his academical 
duties, and had kept aloof from any personal 
implication, w^ent in great perplexity with the 
news to the Doctor, as in this affair he could 
not venture before the Rector. The Doctor 
hastened to his friend, w^ho had already had an 
account from the beadles and the police. 

“ With respect to the personal conflict of the 
Prince, I have as yet received no notice, and it 
is perhaps desirable, both for him and the 
University, that it should not be entered into. 
I shall be watchful and endeavour to provide 
against further consequences ; and I shall 
perform the duties of my office in every direc- 
tion in the strictest way; but do your best to 
prevent my learning any details of this aftair, 
except wdiat may give me good ground for taking 
ofllcial steps 

The Chamberlain w'as almost in the same 
position as our student, he also went full of 
anxiety to the Doctor, related the quarrel, and 
asked what the Doctor considered w'as the duty 
of the Prince, and whether he ought to allow' 
himself to be represented in a duel. 

Tlie Doctor replied, with some reserve, 
“ Every duel is foolish and WTong ! If the 
Hereditary Prince is imbue<l with this view, 
and is willing to take upon himself the conse- 
quences to his own life, and at some future 
day to his government, I will be the last to 
oppose this martyrdom. But if your young 
master is uot free from the prejudices of his 


j class, and has been impressed with the idea that 
there is a certain honour for cavaliers and 
officers, w'hich is different to that of an honour- 
able man, and wdiich, in certain cases, makes a 
duel necessary, your Prine3 rmst judge and in 
future govern according to such view's. In that 
case I will undoubtedly acknowledge that I 
cannot allow him the right to set himself in 
opposition to the ideas of honour of our acade- 
mical youths.’^ 

“ Then you are of opinion,’^ said the Chamber- 
lain, “ that the Prince must consent to the offer 
of a representative ? ” 

“ 1 have neither the right nor the wish to 
ofier an opinion,’^ said the Doctor. “ I can 
only say that the idea of a representative does 
not please me. It appears to me that the affair 
is simple, either reason or personal courage.” 

The Chamberlain rose quickly. “ That is 
quite impossible; it w'ould be an unheard-of de- 
viation from custom, and would produce new 
and painful complications for the Prince ; it is 
also entirely contrary to my convictions of what 
is allowable to a royal prince.” 

The Chamberlain went away not much 
pleased with the radical views of the Doctor ; on 
his return home he said to the Prince, 

“ The afiair must be settled quickly, before it 
reaches his Serene Highness’s ears. His High- 
ness, considering the position of the opponent, 
would prohibit every concession on your part in 
the strictest manner; and yet I see that the 
intercourse of my gracious Prince with the body 
of students, and even perhaps other personal 
relations, will be greatly endangered if the 
public opinion here is not in some measure 
satisfied. Itj therefore, I may counsel your 
Highness, it w’ill be to make a great concession, 
and accept Herr von Hailing as your represen- 
tative.” 

The Prince looked dow'n depressed, and said, 
at last, “ That will perhaps be best.” 

The great leader Beppo, one of the best 
swordsmen of the University, was to fight for 
the Hereditary Prince. But now it appeared 
that the Arminians w'ere by no means satisfied 
with this idea of a representative, and raised 
the impudent pretension that the Prince should 
himself appear before them in his mittens and 
cambric shirt. The stout Ulf for instance, the 
origin of the whole scandal, declared that ho 
found the Markomann leader also on his tablet, 
and he would not renounce the delightful pros- 
pect of having a pass with him in his private 
character. 

Meanwhile a large council of the seniors, 
whom the Markomanns quickly called together, 
decided that this could not be denied. On the 
other hand, their cunning demand that the 
Arminian should first enter the lists against the 
men of their corps, was declined. They wished 
by this to relieve the Prince of the whole aftair, 
as it might be assumed that even the great 
strength of the Arminian would be exhausted 
before half the names on his tablets w'ere blotted 
out. Nothing therefore remained but for the 
two combatants to fight together, at tw'o difterent 
times, the Markomann, in the name of the Prince, 
first. 

“We will do our best that the second time 
shall be unnecessai'y,” said the M;ti'komauu to 


141 


. AMONG THE STUDENTS. 


the representative of the Arminian, on the break- 
ing-up of the conference. 

Every precaution was taken to keep the fatal 
duel secret; only those concerned in it know 
the hour : even to their mutual associates another 
day was spoken of : for the beadles were watch- 
ful, and the University was called upon by the 
highest authorities to prevent, by all means in 
their power, any further consequences. 

The day before the duel, the Prince invited 
the Markonianns to dinner, and there was so 
much talk of similar affairs that the Chamber- 
lain was much annoyed. Shortly before the 
breaking-up of the party, the Prince was stand- 
ing with the Senior in a recess of the window ; 
suddenly he seized hold of the hand of the young 
man, held it fast, and his frame was convulsed 
with violent sobbing. The valiant youth looked 
at the Prince much moved : 

All will go well, your Highness,” said he, 
consolingly. 

“ For you, but not forme,” replied the Prince, 
and turned away. 

As towards evening the Hereditary Prince 
walked restlessly through the rooms, the 
Chamberlain, who also wished to be relieved 
from his troubled thoughts, proposed that they 
should this evening pay a visit to the Rector. 
This was the only place where he was sure to 
hear nothing of the disagreeable history, and 
was sharp-sighted enough to ^ess that this visit 
would be particularly agreeable to the Prince. 

Use knew everything. Our student, v'ho, 
against his will, had played the part of the magpie, 
M’hich creates mischief between parties and runs 
away, circulated about the Rector’s rooms in a 
constant state of anxiety; he ventured, on one of 
the student evenings, to remain behind with 
Frau Penelope when the others went into the 
Rector’s room ; he related the whole quarrel, 
described the dangerous position of the Prince, 
and begged of her Magnificence to say nothing 
of the occurrence. A\Tien therefore, the Prince 
entered, an excitement was visible among those 
present, such as is often the case with those who, 
being entangled in some dangerous business, are 
unable to appear at their ease. The Chamber- 
lain was more charming than ever, and related 
agreeable Court stories, but he made no impres- 
sion. The Prince sat embarrassed in his place, 
next to Frau Use ; he felt the seriousness of even 
her friendly words ; he saw how sorrowfully her 
eyes rested on him, and when they met his he 
turned quickly away. At last he began, with 
unsteady voice, 

“ You once showed me the portraits of famous 
men ; may 1 ask you to let me see the volume 
again ?” 

Use looked at him and rose. The Prince 
followed her, as before, into the next rcom. She 
laid the volume before him ; he looked over it 
without interest, and at last began, in a low tone : 

“ All I wished was to be alone with you. I am 
helpless and very unhappy. I have no person on 
earth who will give me honourable advice as to 
what I shall do. I have given offence to a stu- 
dent, and have been bitterly insulted by him. 
Now I am to allow another to fight out the 
quarrel for me.” 

“ Poor Prince,” cried Use. 

** Do not speak of it, gracious lady, with the 


feelings of a woman, but as if you were my 
friend. That I should burden you with my 
troubles makes me at this moment contemptible 
to myself, and I fear also to you.” He looked 
gloomily down. 

Use spoke softly. “ I can only say what is in 
my heart; if your Highness has done an injus- 
tice, apologise for it ; if you have been insulted, 
forgive it.” 

The Prince shook his head. 

“ That would be of no use, it would only dis- 
grace me afresh in my own eyes, and those of all 
others. It is not on that point that I ask you. 
Only one thing I wish to know ; ought I to allow 
another to tight my battle because I am a 
prince ? All say that I must do it ; but I have 
no confidence in any, only in you.” 

The blood mantled in Use’s face. “ Your 
Highness lays a responsibility upon me which 
frightens me.” 

“ You once told me the truth,” said the 
Prince, gloomily, “as no one on earth has yet 
done, and every word you spoke was good and 
from your heart. I therefore now call upon you 
to give me your honest opinion.” 

“Then,” cried Use, looking at him eagerly, 
M'hile the old Saxon blood boiled up in her veins, 
“ if your Highness began the quarrel, you must 
yourself bring it to an end as a man, and you 
must yourself take care that it is done in an 
honourable way. Your Highness ought not to 
allow another to defy your opponent and en- 
danger himself on account of the wrong you 
have done. To lead a stranger to do what is 
wrong and run the risk of life, whilst you 
quietly look on, would be worst of all.” 

The Prince replied, dejectedly : 

“ He is courageous, and superior to his adver- 
sary.” 

“ And does your Highness think it right to 
take advantage of your opponent by the powers 
of one who is stronger than yourself? Whether 
your representative wins or loses, you will be 
more indebted to him than you ought to be to 
a stranger; and through your whole life you 
will be burdened with the thought that he has 
shown courage, whilst you have not.” 

The Prince became pale and silent. 

“ I feel it just as you do,” he said, at last. 

“ Everything of this kind is dreadful,” con- 
tinued Use, wringing her hands ; “there seems 
everywhere ill-will and bloody revenge. But, if 
it is impossible for you to prevent a wrong, it is 
your duty to take care that it does not become 
greater, and that its consequences do not fall 
on the head of another, only on your own. My 
heart tells me that you must yourself do, if 
not what is right, at all events what is least 
wrong.” 

The Prince nodded his head, and again sat 
silent, 

“ I cannot speak of it to those about me,” he 
began, at last, “ least of all to him,” pointing to 
the Chamberlain. “ If I am to prevent another 
from fighting in my stead,tit must be done im- 
mediately. Do you know any one who can help 
me ?” 

“ My husband’s office forbids his doing any- 
thing for your Highness in this afiair. But the 
Doctor ?” 

The Prince shook his head. 


142 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


‘ Our student,” exclaimed Use ; “ he is truly 
devo' ed to your Highness : he is a countryman 
of ouvs, and feels great sorrow about this busi- 
ness.” 

The Prince reflected. 

Will you allow me to have the use of your 
servant for some hours this evening, when you 
no longer need him yourself?” 

Use called Gabriel into the room, an<l said to 
him : 

“ Do what his Highness desires you/’ 

The Prince approached the window, and spoke 
in a low tone to the servant. 

“ Leave everything to me, your Highness,” 
said Gabriel, and w'ent back to his tea-cups. 

The Prince approached Frau Use, who sat im- 
movable, staring at the book. 

“ 1 have lookwi over the heads,” he said, with 
more composure than he had shown this evening, 
“ and I have found what I was looking for. I 
thank you.” 

Use rose, and returned with him to the 
company. 

The guests had left, and Use was sitting alone 
in her room. What had she done ? Become 
the confidant of a man implicated in a bloody 
deed, the secret adviser of a lawless action. She, 
a wife, w'as the confederate of a stranger ; she 
the helpmate of the man who should be the 
guardian of the laws, had become the abettor of 
a crime. What dark spirit had infatuated her 
when she confidentially held counsel with the 
stranger in whispers on a subject which she 
could not venture to confess to her husband ? 
No, — he who had drawn her into this was not a 
stranger. She had from her childhood heard 
of him with deep interest; he was the future 
ruler of her fatherland, and would be master of 
life and death in the country from whence she 
had come amongst strangers. From the time 
she first knew him, so touching in his joyless 
youth, and in the weak helplessness of his posi- 
tion, she had been tendei'ly solicitous about him ; 
and from that day she had always found in him 
an amiable and pure mind. She was now trem- 
bling with anguish for him. She had driven 
him to his fate ; she bore the guilt of an action 
that was considered unseemly for one in his po- 
sition. If from her advice evil befell him — if 
the opponent of the poor, weak youth should 
kill him — how could she bear it on her con- 
science ? 

She sprang up and wrung her hands. Her 
husband called her, and she shuddered, for she 
felt herself guilty with regsu’d to him. Again 
she asked herself: “What bad spirit has dis- 
tracted me ? Am I no longer what I was ? 
Woe to me! I have not acted as becomes a 
Christian, nor as a modest woman, who opens 
the shrine of her soul only to one. Yet,” she 
cried, raising her head, proudly, “ if he were 
again to stand before me, and again ask whether 
he should act as a man or as an imbecile, I would 
again and again say the same thing. The Lord 
protect me I ” § 

When Kruger entered the Prince’s bedroom 
to undress him, he gave laconically a commission 
which greatly astonished the lackey. But as he 
saw himself thereby confirmed in his confidential 
position, he promised obedience and silence. He 
extinguished the lamp, and went to his post. 


After an hour he introduced the student, who 
had been brought by Gabriel through a back- 
door into the bedroom of the Prince. There a 
conversation took place in a low tone, the con- 
sequence of which was that the student hastened 
from the house in great excitement, and com- 
missioned Gabriel, who was waiting, to order a 
droschky in the early morning at the corner of 
the next street. 

A serious company, the flower wf the different 
corps and associations, tried fellows of daring 
aspect, were assembled in the saloon of a coffee- 
house some distance from the town in the early 
dawn, — an impressive sight for every student 
heart. This day most of the bloody arrange- 
ments of the memorable evening were succes- 
sively to be carried out. The first business was 
to satisfy the student honour of the Hereditary 
Prince. The combatants were drawn up dressed 
in their fencing attire; each one stcKxi, with 
his seconds and witnesses, in one corner of the 
room ; the Doctor — it was the old Teuton of the 
fiddle — had prepared his apparatus in a corner, 
and looked with grim satisfaction on his im- 
pending work, which promised him new and 
instructive cases. But the Arminians were un- 
appeasable : once more their seconds addressed 
themselves to the umpires, and complained that 
the Prince was not tliere, in order, at least, to 
acknowledge his representative by his presence. 
They therefore demanded that the coming affair 
should not be reckoned for him, but as a per- 
sonal struggle between the two students, who 
had frequently met one another in similar tender 
relations. As the Markomanns had not clear 
consciences, having contrived ambiguously to 
bring the transaction to this point, they now 
proposed that the Prince should subsequently 
meet the seconds at some agreed place, where 
the customary reconciliation should take place. 

This was discussed with much bitterness, but 
briefly, which was requisite on account of the 
shortness of time. Suddenly the fox, v/ho kept 
watch outside, knocked twice at the door. He 
was a young Arminian. All stood motionless. 
But the seconds collected the rapiers together, 
and threw them into a dark room, and our stu- 
dent, who, as witness for his clansman, was 
binding silk round his arm, sprang quickly to 
the door and opened it. A slight figure in a 
mantle and round hat entered. It was the 
Hereditary Prince. He took his hat ott*; his 
face looked paler than usual, but he began, with 
composed manner : 

“I have come secretly; I beg the present 
company will permit me to obtain satisfaction 
for myself, and will have consideration for me if 
I show myself unskilful, as it is the first time 
that 1 have done anything of the kind.” 

Thei’e fell a stillness so deep that one could 
hear the slightest sound. All present felt that 
this was a valiant action. But Beppo, the 
Markomann, stood confounded, and began : 

“ Your presence is in itseli* sufficient to do 
away with the last difficulty. I insist that that 
which was settled shall not be changed ; and,” 
he continued, in a low voice, “ 1 conjure your 
Highness not to do what is unnecessary ; it will 
impose upon us all a responsibility which we 
cannot undei*take.” 

The Prince replied, firmly ; You have 


A GENERAL DISTURBANCE. 


143 


■ f 


IS' 


fulfilled your promise ; I am as grateful for the 
vs’ill as for the deed. But 1 am determined.” 
lie took off his coat, and said, “ Put the bandages 
on me.” 

The second of the Arminian turned towards 
the umpire, saying, “ I beg that the opponent 
may make haste ; we are not here to exchange 
civilities ; if the Prince wishes to have satisfacr 
tion himself, we are ready 

The Markomanns prepared the Prince, and one 
must acknowledge that the brave fellows did it 
with as deep reverence and arfxious solicitude as 
if they were in fact warriors of the race whose 
name they boi*e, and were preparing their young 
king’s son for deadly single combat. 

The Prince entered the ring; the weapon 
trembled in the hand of his second, a hardy 
Balafre, when he approached him. “ They are 
prepared ” — “ Los ! ” The blades whistled in 
the air. The Prince did not manage badly ; a 
long habit of cautious self-command stood him 
in good stead ; he avoided exposing himself 
dangerously ; and his second drew upon himself 
severe warning from the umpire, because, with- 
out consideration, he had approached too much 
within the reach of the enemy’s blade. The 
Arminian was far superior in strength and art, 
but he acknowledged to his intimate friends 
afterwards that it had disturbed him to see the 
royal child within reach of his rapier. After 
the fourth pass, blood streamed from Ulf’s 
broad cheek on to his shirt. His second de- 
manded the continuation of the fight, but the 
umpires declared the quarrel ended. As the 
Prince stood still in his place the rapier fell 
out of his hand, and there was a slight tremulous 
motion in his fingers ; but he smiled, and there 
was a pleased expression on his face. In one 
short quarter of an hour a boy had attained the 
self independence of a man. Before the Prince 
turned to his opponent he embraced the Marko- 
mann, and said : “ Now I can thank you from 
my heart.” The umpire led him to his oppo- 
nent, who was standing in bad humour before 
the Doctor, and yet could not suppress a smile 
which gave him some pain, and both shook 
hands. Now the Arminians approached to 
greet the Prince, while the umpire called out 
“ Second event.” 

But the Prince, who liad resumed his mantle, 
went to the leader of the duels, and began : “ I 
cannot go away without making a great request. 
I was, unfortunately, the cause of the painful 
occurrence which occasioned this discord 
amongst the students. I know well that I 
have no right here to express any wish, but it 
would be a pleasant recollection for ever for me 
if 1 could bring about peace and reconciliation.” 

The Prince might at this moment have made 
^..the severest demands upon his Markomanns, and 
even the Arminians were impressed by this ex- 
V traordinary event. A murmur of approbation 
passed through the room, and the umpires ex- 
claimed with loud voices, “The Prince ha^ 
spoken well.” The gloomy looks of some in- 
dividuals were not attended to ; the seconds and 
seniors held a consultation, and the result was 
that the impending challenges were amicably 
settled, and a general reconciliation brought 
about. 

The Prince left the house surrounded b}’ 



the Markomanns, and sprang into the carriage. 
Kruger opened the bed-room door to him. The 
Chamberlain had been much surprised this 
morning at the long repose of his young master; 
but when he came to breakfast he found his 
Prince sitting comfortably at the table. After 
KrUger had gone away, the Prince began : “The 
duel is finished, Weidegg. I myself have 
fought.” The Chamberlain stood up horrified. 
“ I tell you this, because it cannot be kept secret 
from you. I hope that the quarrel among the 
students will be settled by it. Do not say any- 
thing against it, nor excite yourself. I have 
done what I considered to be right, or, at all 
events, what was least wrong, and am happier 
than I have been for a long time.” 

The heads of the Markomanns had begged of 
all present to give their word that the events of 
this morning should not be spoken of, and one 
may assume that every one kept his word. 
Nevertheless, the news flew quick as lightning 
through the University and city, that the Princ*e 
himself had arranged the quarrel by his valiant 
conduct. The Chamberlain perceived from the 
indications of pleasure of the Markomanns, and 
the friendly greetings which his young master 
received in the street, and still more from the 
altered demeanour of the Prince himself, that 
the secret duel had had a good result, and this 
reconciled him a little to the vexatious occur- 
rence. 

When the Prince some time after entered the 
Rector’s house, he was led into his study, and 
Werner greeted him smiling. “ 1 was obliged 
to inform my Government of what has lately 
taken place, and to add, according to the unani- 
mous report of the assembled students, that 
your Highness had by your interposition contri- 
buted essentially to the restoration of peace. It 
has become my duty to express to you the warm 
acknowledgments of the academical authorities. 
I venture to give expression to my own wish, 
that all that your Highness has gone through 
on this occasion may ever leave an agreeable 
and profitable recollection.” 

As the Prince bowed to Frau Use, he said, in 
a low voice, “ All has gone olf well, I thank 
you.” Use looked proudly at her young Prince. 
Yet she had not recovered the fearful anxiety of 
the previous day, and she was more silent with 
him than usual. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The spring smiled cheerfully on the country, 
the flowering shrubs and the beds in the gaixlen 
combined their colours brilliantly ; this year 
real starlings sang in Herr Hahn’s wooden case, 
and ranunculuses and other wild flowers in the 
meadow in front of Herr Hummel’s garden re- 
joiced in the moi -t warmth. It was a pleasant 
time for the academical citizens; the quarrels 
of the winter were settled, the beadles at ten 
o’clock put on their nightcaps, and the lectures 
of the Herr Professors went on swimmingly. 

The Rector also enjoyed the repose, and it was 
desirable for him, for Use saw with anxiety that 
his cheeks were thinner, and that in the evening 
a lassitude came over him that he had not for- 
merly known. 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


UJi 


“ He must leave his study for some months,” 
exclaimed the physician ; “ that will prolong his 
life for years j every learned man requires such 
refreshment two or three times in his life; 
travelling would he the best thing.” 

Felix laughed, but his wife kept this counsel 
faithfully in mind, and endeavoured, meanwhile, 
as often as possible to draw her husband from 
his books into the air. She put her arm within 
his and took him into the wood and green 
meadows ; she pointed out to him the butterflies 
that fluttered over the wild flowers, and the 
flights of birds that enjoyed themselves in the 
warm air. 

“Now is the time for that restlessness of 
which you once told me : do you feel nothing of 
it ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the Professor, “ and if you will 
go with me, we will perhaps travel together into 
foreign parts.” 

“ Will you take me wdth you ?” cried Use, 
delighted. “ I am like a marmot : I only know 
the hole from which my master fetched me, and 
the cover of the chest in which I am fed. If I 
could have my wish, I should like to see snow 
mountains rising high above the clouds, and 
abysses of immeasurable depth. But from the 
mountains I would descend to olive-trees and 
oranges. For years I have heard of the men 
who have lived there, and have observed that 
your heart leaps for joy whenever you speak of 
the blue sky and of the grandeur of the old 
cities. I w’ould gladly see all this, and partici- 
pate in the pleasure which you would have in 
revisiting the scenes so dear to you.” 

“ Good,” said the Professor : “ first the Alps, 
and then Naples; but in passing I must work 
some weeks at Florence for Tacitus.” 

“ Ah !” thought Use, “ there is the manuscript 
again.” 

They were sitting under a large oak, one of 
the giants of the middle ages, that towered 
above the new generation of trees in the wood, 
as the cupola of St. Peter’s does above the towers 
and roofs of the Holy City. 

When they came out from the copse into 
the open space, they saw, amidst the flowers in 
the meadow, the livery of a lackey, and then 
perceived the Prince and his attendant, together 
with a proprietor from a neighbouring village. 
The gentlemen approached and greeted them. 

“ We have a design upon some hours of your 
leisure,” called out the Chambeidain, to the Pro- 
fessor, and the Prince began : 

“ I wish to invite some of the ladies and 
gentlemen of the University to an entertainment 
in the open air, as I cannot have the pleasure of 
receiving them at my own house. It will be a 
small party, and as countrified as possible ; w'e 
thought of this spot, as your gracious lady has 
often extolled it. I should be thankful to you 
to assist me wdth your advice as to the arrange- 
ments.” 

“ If your Highness wishes to give pleasure to 
the ladies, you should invite the children. If it 
is at the same time a child’s feast, your High- 
ness may be assured that it w'Ul leave a pleasant 
recollection.” 

This w'as agreed to. Smart invitations w^ere 
sent to the Rector and Deans, and the Professors 
w ith whom the Prince was personally acquainted. 


and their families, to an entertainment in the 
open air. The idea was approved by small and 
great, and hopes w’ere excited among the ac- 
quaintances of the Rector’s w’ife. 

Laura had received an invitation, and her 
pleasure was great. But w'hen in the evening it 
appeared that the Doctor was not invited, she 
became out of sorts. 

“ I do not mean to be his advocate,” said she, 
to Use, “ but he is precisely in my position ; 
and if I am asked on your account, he ought to 
be so for the sake of your husband. Their hav- 
ing neglected to do this is want of tact, or some- 
thing w'orse ; and, as he is not asked, I am 
determined not to go ; for, let Fritz Hahn be 
what he w ill, he has not deserved a slight from 
these great people.” 

In vain did Use try to explain to her that the 
Doctor had not visited the Prince, from whom 
the invitations came. Laura remained obstinate, 
and replied : 

“You are an eloquent defender of your 
Prince, and more acquainted wnth the customs 
of great people than I had supposed. But when 
the festive day comes I shall feign illness, you 
may rely on that. If the man over the way is 
not invited I will not go. But do not tell the 
Doctor, lest little Fritz should fancy I do it for 
love of him ; it is not friendship for him, but 
displeasure at the Court people.” 

One Sunday there appeared in the neighbour- 
hood of the large oak, first a f^urgon w’ith 
Kruger and a cook, then the Prince’s equipages 
conveying the ladies and gentlemen, and an 
omnibus adorned with garlands and wreaths 
brought the children of the dirterent families. A 
tent w'as erected in the meadowy and a little 
apart, concealed in the copse, a boarded hut was 
erected as a temporary kitchen; a band of 
music W’as stationed in the wood and welcomed 
the parties as they arrived. The Prince and his 
Chamberlain received them near the wood, and 
conducted them to the centre of the verdant 
festive room, where a prodigious work of high 
confectionery art formed the lighthouse, in the 
neighbourhood of w’hich they all came to anchor. 
Soon there w’as a clatter of cups, the unavoid- 
able preparation for a general German festivity. 
In the begining the company w’ere solemn; 
there w’as something unusual in the arrangement 
of the fete which occasioned reflection. But 
when Raschke, raising the flaps of his coat, 
seated himself on the grass, and the other 
gentlemen followed his example and lit the 
cigars which w’ere presented to them, the meadow 
assumed a Theocrital appearance. Even the 
Rector sat on the turf w’ith his legs crossed like 
a Turk; near him the Consistorial Councillor 
on a chair ; and somew'hat further off, on the 
broken stem of a tree, the still hostile Stru- 
velius, w'ith his bristling hair and silent manner, 
like the sorrow'fui spirit of an old willow. Apart 
from them, but enthroned on a high anthill, 
*over which he had spread his pocket-handker- 
chief, sat Magister Knips; he held his round 
hat respectfully under his arm, and rose w’hen- 
ever the Prince approached. Meanwhile the 
latter exerted himself to entertain the ladies, 
with w’hom he had been a favourite since the 
occurrence of the last w’inter, and this day he 
completely gained the hearts of both mothers and 


14S 


A GENEKAL DISTURBANCE. 


daughters. .Use and he worked together with a 
mutual understanding : Use, elevated by the 
thought that people Avere pleased M’ith her 
Prince, and he happy at heart that he had some 
work in common with the Rector’s wife. 

Never yet had he felt on such an intimate 
footing with her as this day. .He looked only 
at her, ho thought only of her. Amidst the 
buzz ot conversation, he listened to every word 
that fell from her lips. Wlienever he ap- 
proached her he felt a glow of transport. In 
laying hold of the branch of a tree, the lace of 
her sleeve passed over his face, and the touch of 
the delicate texture brought the colour into his 
cheeks. Her hand rested a moment on his as 
she offered him a ladybird, and the slight pres- 
sure made hi^ heart beat. 

“ The ladybird knows your Highness’s future. 
You should ask it : Dear ladybird, hoAV long 
shall I be merry ? — one year, two years, and so 
forth, till it flies away.” 

The Prince began the sentence, but had not 
arrived at the first year when it flew away. 

“ That need not signify to you,” said Use, 
laughing, to console him. “ The little creature 
was unkind to me also.” 

“ I liad rather bear misfortune myself,” said 
the Prince, in a low tone, “ than that it should 
reach you.” 

Whilst Use, startled at the deep meaning of 
his Avords, turned to the ladies, he stealthily 
picked up the handkerchief that had fallen from 
her shoulders, and behind a tree pres.s’cd it to 
his lips. 

Still merrier did the young people become, 
Avheu from the hut behind the bushes two men 
stepped forth Avith red-coats and drums, and 
inAuted them to a bird-shooting. The Cham- 
berlain took the superintendence of the boys, 
and Use of the girls; foresters and lackeys 
helped Avith the cross-boAA's; the arroAvs struck 
incessantly on the body of the bird, for the 
hitting Avas made easy, and those Avho did not 
succeed could admire the prizes, Avhich Avere 
arranged on tAvo tables. Everything Avent on 
smoothly, as is fitting at Court fetes ; the 
lackeys moved incessantly auAong the company, 
Avith every imaginable refreshment ; the splints 
off the bird fell like hail, and the Prince dis- 
tributed the prizes to the children who thronged 
round him. Bertha Raschke became queen of 
the shooters, and a little child of the Consis- 
torial Councillor her partner. The children, 
carrying their presents, folloAA'ed the diaimmers 
with joyous shouts up to a long table, Avhere a 
supper Avas prepared for them. They were to 
sit doAvn Avith the king and queen in the 
middle. Jagers and lackeys serv^ed the different 
courses. The Chamberlain could not have 
devised anything better to please the parents ; 
and the fathers Avalked behind the chairs and 
enjoyed seeing the little ones drinking harmless 
Avine out of the crystal glasses, their rosy faces 
expressing delighted astomshment at the beau- 
tiful china and silver dishes. They soon became 
merry ; finally the little Consistorial Councillor 
proposed the health of the Prince; all the chil- 
dren cried “ Hurrah ! ” the drummers di'ummcd, 
the music struck up, and the parents stood 
round thanking the giver of the feast. Use 
brought a garland of Avild flowers Avhich the 
10 


ladles had plaited, and begged permission of the 
Prince to put it round him. He stood amidst 
the happy party elevated by the innocent joy of 
all around him, and by the respectful attach- 
ment Avhich Avas visible on all countenances. 
He looked at Use Avith silent thanks, and Avith- 
out apparent cause his eyes filled with tears. 
Again the children screamed out “ Hurrah ! ” 
and the drums beat. 

A horseman in foreign liA'ery galloped out of 
the AA'ood; the Chamberlain, in consternation, 
approached the Prince, and handed him a letter 
with a black seal. The Prince hastened into the 
tent, and the ChamberlaiiA followed him. 

The Avild flowers had brought the young 
gentleman no good fortune. The pleasure of 
the fete Avas over ; the company stood in groups 
about the tent, uncertain and sympathising. At 
last the Prince and the Chamberlain came out. 
Whilst the latter turned to the Rector and to 
those who surrounded him. Use looked at the 
Prince, on Avhose countenance deep sorroAV was 
depicted. 

“ I beg of you to excuse me to the ladies, as 
I am obliged to depart immediately : my sister’s 
husband has died, after a short illness, and my 
poor sister is very unhappy.” In great agita- 
tion, he continued : “ I myself kneAv my brother- 
in-laAv only slightly, but he Avas very kind to 
my sister, and she felt happier Avith him than 
she had eA'er done in her life. She Avrites to me 
in despair, and the misfortune is for her quite 
inexpressible. Under existing circumstances she 
cannot remain in her present abode, and I fore- 
see that she must return to us. It is our bitter 
fate always to be tossed about, never to remain 
quiet. I knoAv that I shall meet with a similar 
misfortune. I feel myself happy here, and I 
regret to say that this death makes it very un- 
certain Avhether I shall ever return. I go to- 
morroAA^, for some days, to my sister. Pray think 
of me with sympathy.” 

He boAved and retired into the tent, and in a 
few minutes his carriage Avas on its way back to 
the city. 

Use hastened to her husband, Avho had been 
requested by the Chamberlain to act for the 
Prince. It Avas immediately determined to 
break up the party : the children were put into 
the carriages, and the rest returned, in earnest 
conversation, to the city. 

MeauAvhile Laura feigned illness, and sat in 
her little sitting-room rummaging among the 
old songs. After that meeting in the village 
garden she had Avith dismay discovered that, in 
her anxiety about the Doctor, she had much di- 
minished her treasure : full a dozen of the best 
Avere gone, and thus the tie by which she held 
fast the collector’s heart threatened to come to 
an end. Therefore she had not sent anything 
since the drinking-song. But this day, when 
the Doctor had experienced treatment which 
Avhich gave her more concern than it did him, 
she sought for something to console him. 

A heaA’’y step on the staircase disturbed her 
in the Avork of selection. She had hardly time 
to throAV her treasures into the secret draAver 
before Herr Hummel was at the door. It was 
a rare visit, and Laura received him with the 
foreboding that his coming portended serious 
results. Herr Hummel approached his daughter 


THE LOST iLVNUSCRIPT. 


and regarded her carefully, as if she had been a 
new Paris invention. 

“ So you have a headache, and could not ac- 
cept the invitation ? I am not accustomed to 
that with my daughter. I cannot prevent your 
mother sometimes from allowing her feelings to 
affect her temples ; but I expect that your head 
should, under all circumstances, remain sound. 
Wliy did you not accept the invitation 

“ It would have been an intolerable restraint 
to me,” said Laura. 

“ I understand,” replied Herr Hummel. “ I 
am not much in favour of princes, but not much 
against them either. I cannot discover that they 
have greater heads than other people. I am 
therefore obliged to consider them simply as cus- 
tomers of the citizen society, who are not always 
number one, neither do they always wear number 
one. Nevertheless, when a prince invites you, 
with other distinguished persons, to a respect- 
able summer entertainment, and you refuse to 
go, I, as your father, ask you the reason ; and, 
between you and me, it shall now be no question 
of headache.” 

Laura perceived, from the expression of her 
father’s countenance, that he had some other 
idea in his head. 

“ If you wish to know the truth, I will make 
no secret of it. I am not invited on my oum 
account; for what do these people care about 
me ? It is only as the hanger-on of our 
lodgers.” 

“ You knew that when the invitation came, 
yet then you jumped for joy.” 

“ The idea only occurred to me afterwards.” 

“ When you learnt that the Doctor over there 
was not invited,” said Hummel. “ Your mother 
is a very worthy woman, but it sometimes hap- 
pens that one can screw a secret out of her. 
When you thus ruminate over what neither your 
father nor the world should know, you should 
confide it to no one, either in our house or in 
any other.” 

“Very well,” cried Laura, with decision ; “if 
you have discovered it, hear it now from me. I 
am a child of the city, like Fritz Hahn ; he has 
been more frequently than I in the society of 
those Court people ; their taking no notice of 
him made it clear to me that they considered 
one who is my equal as a superfluous addition.” 

“ So he over there is your equal ?” said Herr 
Hummel ; “ that is exactly what I wished to 
speak to you about. I should not approve of 
your setting your affections on the weather-glass 
over the way. I do not choose that the idea 
should ever come into the head of Hahn junior 
to build an arch across the street, and to wander 
about in slippers from one house to the other. 
The thought does not please me. I will bring 
forward only one reason that has nothing to do 
with the old grudge. He is his father’s son, 
and he has no real energy of character. One 
who can endure to sit year after year in that 
straw nest, turning over the leaves of books, 
would not, if I were a maiden, be the man for 
me. It is possible that he may be very leaimed, 
and may know mueh about things that other 
men care little for ; but I have not yet heard 
that he has gained any regular appointment by 
it. Therefore, if that should happen, which will 
not happen so long as the property over there is 


a poultry-yard, — if I, Henry Hummel, sho>ifd 
consent for my only child to sit knitting stock- 
ings in front of the white Muse, yet would 
this be a misfortune for my child herself. You 
are just as self-willed as I am; and if you 
should get among those weak-hearted people, 
you would disturb them lamentably, and be very 
unhappy yourself. Therefore, lam of opinion 
that your headache was a folly, and I wish 
never to hear again of such pains. Good day, 
Fraulein Hummel.” 

He strode out of the door, and hummed on the 
staircase : “ Bloom, dear violet, that I ha'v e 
reared myself.” 

Laura sat at her writing-table supporting her 
heavy head with both her hands. This had been 
a fearful scene. The speech of her stern father 
had wounded her to the soul. But in his depre- 
ciating observations on the neighbour’s son there 
was a certain truth, which had already crept like 
a hostile spider over the bright leaves of her 
sympathy. He must go out into the world. 
Her friends below were thinking of going into 
foreign parts. Ah ! she herselt, a poor bird, 
fluttered her wings in vain, because the fetters 
on her feet held her back. But he could free 
himself. She would lose him from her neigh- 
bourhood, perhaps lose him for ever ; but this 
ought not to hinder her from telling him the 
truth. She hastily searched among the old 
sheets ; she could only find a traveller’s song, 
which undoubtedly did not fit the Doctor, inas- 
much as it expressed the feelings of a jovial 
country stroller. The song was bad, but there 
was none better. Our ancestors, when not oc- 
cupied in highway exploits, took little pleasure 
in travelling. The letter must do the work. 
She wrote thus : — 

The summer birds fly, and man also yearns 
after the distant lands of his dreams. Do not 
be angry with the sender of this, for begging 
you to imbibe somewhat of the spirit of this 
song. Y'’our home is too narrow for you. Your 
merits ai’e not appreciated here as thej’’ deserve. 
Y’'ou are deprived in the quiet house of your 
parents of those experiences which a man gains 
when he forms his life by his own qualifications. 
I know well that your highest task will always 
be to promote learning by your writings. That 
you may do everywhere. But do not think it 
beneath you to influence younger minds by per- 
sonal intercourse with them, and to partieipate 
in the struggles of their generation. Away, 
Doctor; the unknown bird sings to j'ou the song 
of the wanderer. With sorrow will your loss be 
felt by her who is left behind.” 

At the same hour Gabriel was sitting in his 
room brushing the last specks of dust from the 
fete dress which he had spread over a chair. At 
his feet lay the red dog, licking his paws and 
snarling. Gabriel looked contemptuously at the 
dog. ^ 

“ Y'ou are not handsomer nor better than last 
winter. Y^our knavish nature delights in nothing 
but eating, and flying at the legs of the passers- 
by. I have never known a dog so mucli hated, 
or who deserved it so well ; for your only plea- 
sure is to despise all that is respectable. What 
is your favourite festivity ? When it has rained 
and a ray of sun attracts people to walk in the 
wood, you lurk on the steps ; and when a young 


A GENERAL DISTURBANCE. 


147 


maiden appears clad in her light summer dress, 
then you leap like a frog into the puddle that 
lies before her, and spatter her dress all over, 
and I have to fetch a droschky to take her home. 
What did you do yesterday to the strolling cigar 
ilcalor ? Ilis chest was standing on the bench in 
Herr Hummel’s garden, and the business pro- 
mised well. The eigar-man went a few steps 
from his chest to speak to an acquaintance, and 
you, miscreant, made a spring at the bread and 
butter lying on the chest, and came with all 
fours on the glass. It broke, and the splinters 
mixed with the cigars ; you trampled them 
altogether iuto a paste, and then returned to the 
house. You, monster, caused your master to 
deal roughly with the trader when he com- 
plained of you, and the man packed up his wares 
and went away from our house with a curse. On 
what night ramble have you been since then ? 
No eye has seen you.” 

He bent down towards the dog. 

“ So this time it has gone into your flesh. I 
xm glad to see you can injure yourself as well as 
others.” 

Gabriel examined the dog and drew a glass 
splinter out of its paw. The dog looked at him 
and whined. 

^ “ If I only knew,” continued Gabriel, shaking 
his head, “ what in me pleases the dog. Is it 
the bones, or perhaps some roguish trick that 
amuses him ? He hates all the world, and even 
snarls at his master ; but he comes to visit me 
and behaves himself like a good comrade. And 
he is still more crazy about my master. I do 
not believe that his Magnificence knows much 
of Speihahn. But whenever this fiend sees my 
Professor, he peeps at him slyly from under his 
shaggy eyebrows, and does his best to wag his 
tuft. And when my master goes to the Univer- 
sity, he runs after him like a lamb behind its 
mother. How comes it that his black soul 
attaches itself to my learned man ? V/hat does 
he want with our learning ? It does not believe 
in you, Speihahn.” 

He looked round suspiciously and hastily put 
on his coat. In his Sunday attire he left the 
house. The Hahn family were not at home, for 
Dorchen was looking out of the dressing-room 
window. She laughed and nodded. Gabriel 
took courage, and stepped into the enemies’ 
hall. The door of the room opened, Dorchen 
stood on the threshold curtsying, and Gabriel, 
holding the handle of the door, began, solemnly : 

“ It would be very agreoable to me if you 
would allow me the pleasure of going out with 
you this fine day.” 

Dorchen replied, twitching at her apron : 

“ I must sit here like a house toad, but that 
need not stop you.” 

“ I should then have no pleasure in it,” replied 
Gabriel, bowing, “for I should be always think- 
ing of you, and I had much rather have your 
presence than only think of you in the open air. 
If, therefore, you would allow me to stay here a 
little time.” 

“ Approach nearer, Herr Gabriel.” 

“ Only to the threshold,” said Gabriel, ad- 
vancing, still holding the open door. “ I only 
wish on this occasion to say that the number of ' 
which you have lately dreamt is not to bo i 
found at any collector’s. I have, therefore, i 


1, taken another, and have had it drawn by a 
t beggar-boy, as that brings good luck. I shall 
, rejoice if you will play this number with me. It 
. is much, for it is a full eighth.” 
r “ But that will be no good omen,” said Dor- 
1 chen, with pretty embarrassment. 

“ Why not, Fraulein ? It was a real beggar- 
3 boy.” 

I “ No, I mean when two play together who 
I love one another.” 

1 “ Dear Dorchen ! ” cried Gabriel, approaching 

3 nearer and seizing her hand. 

1 A hollow gurgling sound interrupted the 
; conversation. Dorchen drew back from him 
) terrified. 

“ It was a spirit,” she cried. 

5 “ That is impossible,” said Gabriel, con- 

i solingly : “ for, first, it is day ; secondly, it is 
* in a new house ; and, thirdly, spirits generally 
do not make such a noise. It was something 
in the street.” 

“ Your being here is a real comfort to me,” 

1 exclaimed the timid Dorchen. “ It is fearful 
to be alone in a great house.” 

“To be together in a small house is par- 
ticularly jolly,” cried Gabriel, boldly. “Ah, 
Dorchen ! if we could venture to think of it.” 

Again a slight scratching was heard. 

“But there is something here,” cried Dor- 
chen. “ I am alarmed.” 

She sprang away from him to the middle of 
the room. Gabriel took a yard measure, and 
searched among the furniture. 

“ So you are there,” he cried, angrily poking 
with the yard measure under the sofa. 

Speihahn leapt forth with a bark on to the 
nearest chair, from the chair on to the console, 
on which the clock stood ; he knocked down 
the clock, and dashed through the half-opened 
door. 

It was the parlour clock and a wedding pre- 
sent. Herr Hahn wound it up every evening 
before he went to bed; it had two alabaster 
pillars with gilded capitals; the rest was of 
American wood, and represented a triumphal 
arch. Now the treasure lay in ruins, the 
pillars shattered, the wood broken, and the dial 
split. ,In the opened works a single w’heel 
whirled w’ith fearful rapidity, all the rest was 
motionless. Dorchen stood dismayed before the 
fragments and wrung her hands. 

“The monster,” sighed Gabriel, occupying 
himself in vain with the shattered work of art, 
and endeavouring with no better result to 
comfort the poor maiden, who trembled before 
the terrors of the ensuing hour. 

“ I had a foreboding,” cried Herr Hahn, on 
his return home, “ that something would happen 
to-day. I forgot yesterday, for the first time, 
to wind up the clock. But now my patience is 
at an end; there shall be war to the knife 
between him over the way and me.” He 
aproached the sobbing maid threateningly. 

“ Bear witness to the truth,” he cried out ; 

“ the court will demand your testimony. Do 
not seek safety in hypocrisy and lies. Was it 
the dog, or was it you ? ” 

Dorchen related dramatically the whole mis- 
demeanor of Speihahn; she poked under the 
sofa, as if she could draw out the dog bodily ; 
she confessed, weepingly, to the open door, and 


148 


THE LOST MANUSCRII^. 


explained Gabriel’s presence as owing to an 
inquiry he had made of her.” 

“ U nfortuuate one,” cried the master of the 
house, “ I see your embarrassment : it was 
yourself ; your conscience pricks you. How 
can you show that he was under the sofa ? On 
your peril, I demand a tangible evidence.” 

“Here it is,” cried Dorchen, still sobbing, 
and pointing in tragic attitude w'ith her hand 
to the ground. 

There certainly was an indubitable proof 
under the sofa, although not tangible. The 
dog had left behind as sure a confirmation as if 
he had impressed his seal on the ground. 

Now, Frau Hahn gave, indignantly, the 
orders w'hich became a housewdfe under such 
circumstances. 

“Do not attempt it,” cried Herr Hahn; 
“ aw'^ay with towels and cloths ; this shall re- 
main.” 

“ But, Andreas,” exclaimed his wife. 

“ This shall remain, I say ; it must be recog- 
nised and certified. Bring Rothe immediately, 
and his wife, and whatever witnesses you can 
find in the street.” 

The witnesses came, and, standing round, 
examined the place of the evil deed ; but Herr 
Hahn hastened to his wTiting-table, and WTote 
a strong letter to Herr Hummel, in which he 
related the misdeed, named the witnesses, and 
threateningly demanded compensation. This 
letter Rothe carried ofl:’ to Herr Hummel, with 
a board on which were the ruins of the clock. 

Hummel read the letter carefully, and threw^ 
it on the table. 

“ I congratulate your master on his new 
summer amusements,” he said, coldly. “ Bear 
this waiter back again ; I have no answ'er for 
such nonsense. One may do what one cannot 
avoid.” 

The following day a judicial complaint again 
raised its Medusa’s head betwixt the two houses. 
This time even Frau Hahn w^as deeply incensed; 
and when she, shortly after, met Laura in the 
street, she turned her good-humoured face to 
the other side, to avoid greeting the daughter 
of the enemy. 

Laura received the Doctor’s answer to her 
letter. In a pretty poem the happiness of the 
parental house was extolled, and he spoke of 
his great delight in his neighbour’s charming 
daughter, w'hom the poet saw in the garden 
among her flowers, whenever he looked over the 
high hedge. He further added : “ Tlie advice 
which you express so heartily in your lines has 
found an echo in me. I know' wdaat is wanting 
to my life. My learning makes it impossible 
for me to find appreciation, wLich the friends of 
* a learned man desire for him more eagerly than 
himself ; it is difiicult for me to adopt the aca- 
demical course to which I have now a call in 
foreign parts. But the nature of my studies 
takes from me all hope that any outw^ard results 
can ever overcome the hindrances which oppose 
themselves to the secret washes of my soul.” 

“ Poor Fritz ! ” said Laura; “and yet poorer 
me ! Why must he give up all hope because he 
studies Sanscrit ? It is not coui’age that is 
wanting to this learned man, like his father, but 
passion. lake the old gods about w'hom you 
write, you have no human substance, and no 


blood in your veins. A few sparks are occa- 
sionally kindled up in your life, and one hopes 
they may light up into a mighty flame ; but im- 
mediately it is all smothered and extinguished 
by prudent consideration. Ah ! if one could 
but lay hold of Fritz by the hair and cast him 
into the wdldcst tumult, through which he would 
have to fight his w’^ay bloodily, defy luy father, 
and venture some great hazard on the stake, in 
order to wdn wdiat he in his gentle w'ay says he 
desires for himself ! Aw^ay with this quiet, 
learned atmosphere : it makes those who breathe 
it contemptible ! Their strongest excitement 
is a sorrowful shrug of the shoulders over other 
mortals or themselves.” 

Thus did the passionate Laura chafe in her 
garret-room, and again w’as her paper moistened 
by bitter teai-s, as she sought composure in he- 
roic verses, and called upon the foreign gods of 
the Doctor to take the field against the pranks 
of Speihahn. 

Glorious Indra, and you shining powers of heaven, 

Who shower down blessings on the human race, 

Come hither to our aid, for we art girt around with 
evil ! 

Dark powers of night possess the peaceful court. 

And separate the father from his child : stretch’d by 
the door 

Lies the hateful dog, growling out his curses. 

The Prince was detained some weeks from 
the city. After his return, he lived in the quiet 
retirement which w^as imposed upon him by his 
mourning. Lectures in his room were again re- 
sumed, but his place at Use’s tea-table remained 
empty. 

On the day when the University prizes w'ere 
distributed, the students made a great torch- 
light procession to their Rector’s house. The 
flaming lights waved in the old streets; the 
fanfares resounded, in the midst of w'hich 
pow'^erful men’s voices might be heard ; gables 
and balconies w'ere lighted in coloiu'ed splen- 
dour ; the peasants swung their weapons lustily, 
and the torch-bearers scattered the sparks 
amongst the thronging multitudes. The pro- 
cession turned into the street tow’ards the 
valley: it stopped before the house of Herr 
Hummel. Again there w^as music and singing ; 
a deputation solemnly crossed the tlireshold. 
Hummel looked proudly on the long stream of 
red lights w'hich flickered about and lighted up 
his house. The w hole honour w'as only for his 
house, though he could not prevent the glare 
and smoke from dividing themselves and illu- 
minating the enemies’ roof and pediments. 

Upstairs some of the Rector’s most intimate 
friends w'cre assembled : he received in his room 
the leaders of the students, and there w'ere 
speeches and replies. Wliilst those assembled 
W'ei'e approaching nearer to listen to the oratory, 
the door of Use’s room opened gently, and the 
Prince entered. Use hastened to meet him, but 
ho began, w ithout greeting : 

“ I come to-day to bid you farew'ell. Wliat 1 
foresaw has happened. 1 have received orders 
to return to my father. To-morrow I and my 
attendant wall take formal leave of the Rector 
and yourself, but I wished first to see you for a 
moment ; and, now that I stand before you, I 
cannot express W'hat brings me here. I thank 
you for all your kindness. I beg of you not to 
forget me. It is you who have made the city 


THE DRAMA. 


149 


»o pleasant to me. It is yon who make it hard 
for me to go away.” 

He said these words so softly that it seemed 
only as if a breath had passed into Use’s ear ; 
and he did not await her answer, hut left the 
room as quickly as he came into it. 

Outside, in the open place by the meadow, 
the students threw their torches in a large heap ; 
the red flame rose high in the air, and the grey 
smoke encircled the tops of the trees; it rolled 
over the houses and crept through the open 
windows, and took away the breath. The flame 
became lower, and a thin smoke ascended from 
the dying embers. It had been a rapid, brilliant 
red, a fleeting fire, now extinguished, and only 
smoke and ashes remained. But Use was still 
standing by her window, and looking sorrowfully 
on the empty place. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ He was a tyrant,” exclaimed Laura, “ and 
she was right not to obey him.” 

“ He did his duty harshly, and she also,” re- 
plied Use. 

“ He was a cross-grained, narrow-minded 
fellow, who was at last humbled ; but she was a 
noble heroine, who cast from her all that was 
most dear on earth in order to fulfil the highest 
duties,” cried Laura. 

“ He acted under the impulse of his nature, 
as she did according to hers. Hers was the 
stronger character, and she went victoriously to 
death. The burden of his deed crushed him 
during life,” rejoined Use. 

The characters which the ladies were dis- 
cussing were Antigone and Creon. 

The Professor had one autumn evening laid 
the tragedies of Sophocles on his wife’s table. 
“ It is time that you should learn to appreciate 
the greatest poets of antiquity in their works.” 
He read them aloud and explained them. The 
lofty forms of the Attic stage hovered in the 
peaceful atmosphere of the German house. Use 
heard around her curses and heartbreaking 
lamentations ; she saw a dark fatality impending 
over men of the noblest feeling and iron will ; 
she felt the storm of passion raging in powerful 
souls, and heard, amidst the cry* of rage and des- 
pair, the soft chords of touching feeling sound- 
ing with irresistible magic. 

The time had indeed come when Use could 
comprehend and enter into the feelings .and fate 
of the strong chai’acters of the past. 

He only who has wandered amidst the 
shadows of the night, and has seriously listened 
to the secret admonitions of his inmost soul, can 
fully understand the spirit of others who, in a 
similar position, have sought to extricate them- 
selves from an intricate labyrinth, and have 
found safety or destruction. 

Use now had experienced hours of fleeting 
terrors ; she also had trembled as to whether she 
had pursued the right path. 

The seventh of the Greek tragedies had been 
read ; the boldest representation of bitter passion 
and bloody revenge. Use sat mute and horrified 
at the outbreak of fearful hatred from the heart 
of Electra. Then her husband, in order to 


recal her to less anxious thoughts, began ; 
“ Now you have heard all that remains to us of 
the art and powers of a wonderful poetical 
mind, you must tell me which of his characters 
has most attracted you.” 

“ If you mean that in which the power of his 
poetry has most impressed me, it is always the 
newest form which has appeared to me the 
greatest, and to-day it is the monstrous concep- 
tion of Electra. But if you ask which has 
pleased me most — ” 

“ The soft Ismene ?” interrupted the Professor, 
laughing. 

Use shook her head. “ No it is the valiant 
son of AchiUes. First he is inclined to give in 
to a cunning plan of his companions, and do 
violence to an unfortunate one ; but after a long 
struggle his noble natmre conquers : he sees that 
it will be wrong, and he resists.” 

The Professor closed the book, and looked 
with astonishment at his wife. 

“ There is,” continued Use, “ in your greatest 
Gi’eek characters, a rigidity that is frightful to 
me. Something is wanting in aU to make them 
like us ; they do not doubt as we do, nor 
struggle ; even when they do right, their great- 
ness consists in their immovable determination 
to do something fearful, or rigid persistence in 
stemming a terrible fate. But whilst we expect 
that the strong man shall act powerfully, accord- 
ing to his nature, either for good or evil, he does 
not gain our full human sympathy, unless we 
have the certainty that he experiences an inward 
struggle such as we may ourselves feel.” 

“ Such as we may ourselves feel ?” asked the 
Professor, seriously, laying aside the book. 
“ How do you come by this experience ? Have 
you. Use, some secret from your husband ?” 

Ilse rose and looked at him with dismay. 

But the Professor continued, cheerfully, “ I 
will first tell you why I ask, and what I would 
like to know from you. When I brought you 
from fann and field, you were, in spite of your 
deep German feeling, in many respects just such 
as we like to picture to ourselves Nausicaa and 
Penelope. You freely received impressions from 
the world around you j you stood sm’e and strong 
in the firmly -knit circle of right and duty ; with 
childlike trust you gathered from the moral 
habits of your circle, and from Holy Scripture, 
your standard of judgment and conduct. Your 
love for me, and connection with another stamp 
of soul, and the insight into a new sphere of 
knowledge, awakened in your heart passionate 
vibrations ; uncertainty came, and then doubt ; 
new thoughts striiggled against old impressions, 
the demands of your new life against the tenor 
of your maiden years. You were for months 
more unhappy than I had any idea of. But 
now, when 1 have been rejoicing in your cheer- 
ful repose of mind, I find you have acquired a 
knowledge of human nature that astonishes me. 
I have often lately seen, with secret pleasure, 
how warmly you have sympathised with, and 
how mildly you have judged, the characters of 
the drama. I had expected that their hard and 
monstrous fate would have been repulsive to 
you, and that you would have felt rapid transi- 
tions from tenderness to aversion. But you 
have sympathy with the dark forms as well as 
with the bright, as it* your soul had begun to 


150 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


anticipate that in one’s own life, good and evil, 
blessing and curse, might be associated, and as 
if you had yourself experienced that man must 
not only follow an outward moral law, however 
exalted its origin, but that he may at some period 
be compelled to seek for some other law out of 
the depths of his own soul. But such an insight 
men can only attain to when they find themselves 
in dangerous positions. It is improbable that 
this should have been the case with you, unless 
you have gone through some experience to 
which I have been a stranger. I do not ^vish 
to intrude upon your confidence ; I know what 
trust I can repose in you ; but if you think fit, 
1 would gladly know what has given rise to this 
sensitive feeling for the secret struggles of men 
who are hurried along by a tragic fate.” 

Use seized him by the hand, and drew him 
with her into her room. “ It was on this spot,” 
she cried out, “ a stranger asked me whether he 
should expose himself to the danger of death 
for the sake of his honour, or whether he should 
yield up another to this danger. I had given 
him a right to ask such a question, for I had 
before spoken to him of his life with greater 
frankness than was prudent for a cautious 
woman. I wrestled with the question that he 
put to me, but I could not refuse to answer, 
and, Felix, to tell you the truth, I did not wish 
to do so. I gave him counsel which might have 
brought him to a bloody end. I gave him the 
advice secretly, and I was entangled in a fatal 
web from which I could not release myself. I 
thought of you, but I did not dare to tell you, 
as you must either have been unfaithful to the 
duties of your office, or you must for ever have 
wounded the honourable feelings of another. I 
questioned our holy teacher : it told me only 
that my advice was sinful. I was unhappy, 
Felix, that I had come into this position, but 
still more unhappy that neither you nor our 
holy instructor could help me out of it. But in 
this affair I only consulted my own heart. It 
was no merit of mine that things turned out 
better than I feared they would. Since that I 
have known, Felix, what struggles of conscience 
are ; now you know the only secret that I have 
ever had from you. If I did wrong, judge me 
mildly, for by all that is sacred I could not have 
done otherwise.” 

“ And the Prince ?” asked her husband, softly. 

“ He has a good friendly heart, and is an un- 
educated man ; but I am your wife. With him 
there was no doubt and no struggle.” 

“ I know enough, my earnest, high-minded 
wife,” said the Professor, “ to see that, as far as 
concerns you, I can now pack up my books. For 
of what value is the teaching of books, however 
good they may be, in comparison to that of life. 
A foolish student’s duel, in which you were the 
invisible adviser, has done more, perhaps, to 
form your mind, than my prudent words would 
have done in the course of years. Be of good 
courage, Frau Use vou Bielstein ; whatever fate 
may still prepare for us, I know now that you 
are fitted for inward struggles, and we need not 
be solicitous about dangers from without. For, 
however one may be disturbed and excited by 
the human beings about one, he who has once 
learnt so far to know himself, that he is able 
to read the seci’et writing of other souls, has 


good protection against the temptation of the 
world.” 

W'hat was said by the German scholar, who 
now so heartily embraced his wife, was not amiss, 
only it is a pity that we have no security in 
reading the secrets of other souls, because we 
have, to a certain extent, endeavoured to watch 
our own ; and it is a pity that the greatest 
knowledge of the secret writing in the souls oi 
others will not be a protection against the 
storms of our own passions. 

The Chamberlain, who now acted as marshal 
to the Hereditary Prince, was holding a con- 
ference with his father upon the concerns of his 
office. There was question, among other things, 
of the butter-machine and Kruger, and, what 
was not less important, of increasing the wages 
of an Hereditary Prince’s valet. Contrary to ex- 
pectation, the Prince was ready to agree to his 
proposals, and the Chamberlain, pleased at the 
gracious humour of his master, was about to 
take leave, when the Prince stopped him by the 
kind remark, “ Your sister, Malwine, looks 
suffering ; does she dance too much ? You 
should take care of her delicate health j nothing 
would be more injurious to such a constitution 
than an early marriage. I wish to continue to 
see her pleasant countenance at Coimt.” 

Now Fraiilein Malwine was betrothed in 
secret to one of the Prince’s officers ; it was 
known at Court and in the city, but the be- 
trothed were poor, and the consent of the 
Prince was necessary for their union. In order 
to obtain this it was advisable to await a favour- 
able opportunity. Therefore the Chamberlain 
was alarmed at his master’s words ; he perceived 
a secret threatening in them, and whilst he 
thanked him for his- gracious sympathy, his face 
betrayed his dismay. 

After the Prince, by this short turn of the 
peg, had tuned the strings of his instrument, he 
continued, with indifference ; “If you have a 
quarter of an hour to spare, pray accompany me 
into the cabinet of antiquities.” 

They passed through corridors and rooms 
into a distant part of the castle, where, on an 
upper floor, a large collection of old coins, 
carved stones, and other small remains of Greek 
and Roman times, were arranged. Many genera- 
tions of rulers had contributed to it, but the 
greatest part had been brought by the Prince 
himself when he returned from his travels. He 
had, in former years, taken great interest in the 
arrangement of these things, and spent large 
sums in purchasing others ; but gradually this 
fancy had passed off’, and for years the feather 
brush of the conservator had only removed the 
dust for occasional strangers who happened 
accidently to hear of this almost unknown collec- 
tion. 

The Chamberlain, therefore, accompanied his 
master with the feeling that this unusual idea 
signified something extraordinary ; and although 
he stood near the sunny heights of earthly bliss, 
he felt a gloomy anticipation that what was im- 
pending boded no good. The Prince returned 
with a nod the low obeisances of the stray sight- 
seers; he passed in review the long rows of 
rooms, had some cases opened for him, took in 
his hand the written catalogue, and examined 
carefully the gold coins of Alexander the Great 


THE DRAMA. 


151 


*11(1 las successors, and inspected a collection of 
old glass vessels and vases, in which the artistic 
work of the old glass was striking. Then he 
asked for the strangers’ hook, in which the 
names of the visitors were recorded. After he 
had sent the man away with a commission, he 
began, to his attendant : “ The collection is less 
seen than it deserves ; I have long thought of 
having it made more known, and more useful to 
men of learning, by a better arrangement and 
a good catalogue. It has been one of the little 
pleasures of my life ; I have learnt much by it, 
and it has at times banished annoyances from 
my mind. Do you know any one who would be 
titted to undertake the management of a work 
so important and trustworthy ? ” 

Tlie Chamberlain bethought himself, but no 
one occurred to him. 

“ I should prefer a stranger,” continued the 
Prince. “ That will only give rise to a passing 
and unembarrassed connection. He must of 
course be learned and have good guarantees of 
character.” 

The Chamberlain named several connoisseurs 
from other capitals. The Prince looked at him 
keenly, and shook his head. ‘‘ Think over it,” 
he repeated ; “ perhaps some one will occur to 
you.” 

The examination continued. An antique 
vase interested the Prince by reminding him of 
how he had obtained it. A Roman woman, of 
great beauty and tall figure, had suddenly come 
up and offered it to him with such a dis- 
tinguished manuci*, that he, as he laughingly 
expressed it, was so surprised by the unusual 
demeanour of the woman, and her sonorous 
voice, that he paid her more than she asked. 
No one yet occurred to the Chamberlain. 

On his way back to his apai-tment, the Prince 
remained standing in one of his lonely salons, 
and asked the Chamberlain, “Has it not occurred 
to you that the Scarletti dresses badly ?” 

The Chamberlain dissented, for the dancer 
was supposed to be in favour. 

“ She wore, yesterday evening, an immense 
nosegay. To which of our young men is this 
awkward attention to be ascribed ?” 

Again the Chamberlain was terrified, for now 
he knew that a hailstorm was about to fall on 
his young crop. 

“As you arc in the humour for knowing 
nothing to-day,” continued the Prince, in a sharp 
tone, “ 1 must tell you that I should be sorry 
to see the Hei'editary Prince having any inter- 
course with the ladies of the theatre. He is not 
old enough to carry on such connections with 
the necessary reserve; and the vanity of the 
ladies will bring every favour to public notice.” 

The Chamberlain affirmed, upon his honour, 
that he knew nothing of these civilities of the 
Hereditary Prince, and that, even if the assump- 
tion of his gracious master was well founded, it 
could only have been a passing idea of the 
Prince that had occasioned this gift. “Your 
Highness will be convinced that I should not 
promote anything of this kind.” 

“ But I do not choose that you should close 
your eyes,” continued the Prince, bitterly; “you 
stood in the box behind the Hereditary Prince, 
and you must have seen the coquettish look of 
admiration which she cast upon him. The pre- 


sent was probably conveyed by the new valet ; 
let him know that in my service one does not 
carry two faces under one hood. But I require 
of you,” he continued, more calmly, “ that you 
should double your vigilance. What occupies 
him now ?” 

“ He attends regularly the small evening par- 
ties of the Princess.” 

“And in the day?” added the Prince, con- 
tinuing the examination. 

“ As your Highness knows, he is fond of 
music; he plays duets with the music-master.” 

“ What does he read ?” 

The Chamberlain named some French boolo. 

“ May I be allowed humbly to make a proposal ? 
It would, in every point of view, be useful to his 
Highness if he had the pleasure of devising or 
arranging something — perhaps the laying out of 
a park, or the management of a farm. I venture 
to suggest that a similar occupation has been 
found advantageous to young princes at other 
coui-ts. Perhaps one of your Highness’s castles 
could be adapted for such a purpose.” 

“And the Hereditary Prince and IleiT von 
Weidegg would keep their own court, and re- 
main many months in the year fur from ours, at 
their villa,” replied the Prince. 

“ I assure your Highness that I never thought 
of such a thing,” answered the Chamberlain, 
offended. 

“ I do not blame you,” replied the Prince, 
with cutting courtesy. “ Consideration for my 
coffers forbids my agreeing now to your pro- 
posal ; but I will think of it. It is a disappoint- 
ment to me that the Prince has not learnt to 
take an interest in anything during his stay at 
the University. Has he had no personal rela- 
tions during that time that may have given 
some zest to his life ?” 

“ He took great pleasure in the circle of Pro- 
fessor Werner,” replied the good Chaanberlain, 
hesitatingly. 

“ I hope he preserves a grateful recollection 
of his teacher.” 

“ He speaks with great interest of him and 
his family,” rejoined the Chamberlain. 

“It is well,” concluded the Prince. “ I will 
take into consideration the question of agricul- 
tural occupation ; and do not forget to think a 
little concerning my collection.” 

This new demand could no longer be with- 
stood by the Chamberlain ; he was silent for 
some minutes, inwardly struggling, whilst the 
Prince moved on with his head turned to him, 
like one who waits for something decisive. 

“ I do not know that I can propose any one 
better for the purpose than Professor Werner,” 
said the Chamberlain, at last. 

The Prince again stopped. “You consider 
him fitted for the work ?” 

“ Vv^ith respect to his scientific capabilities I 
naturally can form no judgment,” replied the 
Chamberlain, cautiously. 

Irritated by this cowardly attempt to draw 
back, the Prince asked, with emphasis, “Would 
he undertake such a charge ?” 

“ He has a very distinguished position at the 
University, and is happily married; and he 
would, undoubtedly, not like to leave his present 
position for any length of time.” 

“Perhaps that may be arranged,” rejoined 


152 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


the Prince. “ Werner, then, is the man. At a 
short interview I accidentally had with him he 
made a good impression on me. It reminds 
me that that evening there was a question of 
making an investigation in the archives at 
Bielstein.” 

Thus did a father exert himself for the benefit 
of his son. 

The Chamberlain did remember that that 
evening there had been a question of an investi- 
gation in the archives of Bielstein, and the 
Prince thanked him for it. The following 
morning orders were given through the Council 
to the keepers of the records, and members of 
other branches of the Court and State adminis- 
tration, to seek out and send all records of a 
certain age that had reference to the castle of 
Bielstein and monastery of Rossau. This order 
occasioned a great stirring of dust, and five large 
leather sacks were filled with records and old 
papers. The collection was sent to the Pro- 
fessor ; and in a letter the Prince expressed his 
thanks for the attentions which the Professor 
had shown the Hereditary Prince. He added 
that, remembering a former conversation, he 
sent for his inspection all that, in a cursory 
search, could be found concerning a place in 
which he took an interest. 

This letter gave cause for serious considera- 
tion to two inquiring heads. When the un- 
certain report of the student concerning an 
existing chest had disturbed the peace of the 
house, the friends had again turned their atten- 
tion to the inventory of the deceased Bachhuber, 
and had once more pondered over every word of 
it : In a hollow and dry place, loco cayo et 
sicco.” The word place, locus, occasioned much 
thought j but they could come to no certainty 
about it. Of the house of Bielstein, “ domus 
Bielstetn ! ” — here the expression house, do- 
nms, was very remarkable. Did it mean that 
the manuscript lay concealed in the dwelling- 
house itself, or was the word house used in the 
obsolete meaning of estate or property ? The 
Doctor contended for the dwelling-house, the 
Professor for the estate. Much depended upon 
this j for if domus signified estate, the manu- 
script might be concealed in any part of the 
property. “ I have deposited it all, hcec omnia 
deposui!’^ That word, all, was very comforting, 
omnia; for it gave the certainty that the de- 
ceased Bachhuber had not left the manuscript 
behind. But the place of deposit was the more 
doubtful. Did the word betoken that the manu- 
script was deposited only in Bielstein, and thus 
given over and trusted in a certain manner to 
the inhabitants ? — or had the writer chosen the 
expression because he wished to signify the 
interring and blocking it up in the deepest 
concealment ? To us laymen it appears clear 
indeed, from the Latin style, that Bachhuber 
was very glad to have a Latin word by which to 
signify the concealment of his treasure ; how- 
ever, the feeling of the learned men was other- 
wise. 

^ Finally, the friends agreed in taking the 
view, that, in spite of this account, the walls of 
the house were worthy of future attention. The 
hollow places which the Doctor had registered 
might be examined ; the cupboard in the w^all 
in Use s bedroom appeared a place not to be 


despised. The Professor, thei*efore, in the next 
holidays, determined to obtain some certainty 
on that point. The business of the Rector had 
only allowod a short visit to the castle this time; 
but the Professor w'ould be aided by his position 
in the family, which opened to him Use’s room 
and cupboard. 

It was a fine August day; the father was 
riding about his fields, and Use sitting with 
Clara in household consultation, when an uproar 
w’as raised in the kitchen, and Mademoiselle, 
quite beside hei’self, rushed into the sitting- 
room, exclaiming, “ There is again a ghost ! ” 
There w'as, in fact, a loud knocking in the house, 
and the maids ran together into the hall. The 
noise came from the upper story ; so Use has- 
tened upstairs, and found, on opening her room 
door, the Professor, in his shirt-sleeves, w'orking 
in the cupboard with various tools he had 
obtained from the cooper. He received her 
laughing, and called out, to tranquillise her, 
that he would fasten the cupboard boards again. 
This was right, but he had first bi’oken through 
them. The manuscript w'as not there, and no- 
thing W'as to be seen but an empty space and a 
few bits of lime. There was, how'ever, one in- 
explicable thing, which might be a trace of the 
manuscript — a small bit of blue cloth rag ; how 
that had come into the wall w'as a riddle. On 
further examination, it appeared that it was not 
coloured with indigo; therefore, probably, it 
had existed previous to the introduction of that 
colour. Whether a mouse, in her motherly care, 
had deposited it there as an ornament of her 
bed, and at the same time for food in a despe- 
rate case of necessity, could not bo ascertained, 
as at present these folk seem to have no tra- 
ditions of the past, and the individual had 
probably been eaten some centuries ago by an 
ancestor of our cats. 

This discovery might have given confidence to 
the friends, for there w'ere now tw'o places wdiere 
the treasure W'as not. But there is much that 
is illogical in the nature of men. Even the 
Doctor inclined now to the Professor’s opinion, 
that the manuscript w'as perhaps not concealed 
in the house ; nay, that it might even be at a 
distance from this place. 

Such W'as the state of the matter W'hen the 
Prince’s packet arrived. The friends w'cre oc- 
cupied many hours w'ith the coffer, and examined 
the records carefully. They found much that 
w'ould be valuable for the history of the district, 
but nothing that led to the manuscript. At 
last, the Professor raised from the bottom of the 
coffer a thick bundle of reports, on sheets sew’ed 
together, which had been sent by the officials of 
Bielstein to the Government. Among them w'as 
the w'l’iting of a deputy bailiff of the last cen- 
tury, in w'hich he notified that he w'as hastening, 
in those times of suspense and danger, com- 
manded by high authority, to convey to the 
royal country residence. Solitude, the chestful 
of hunting implements and old books which had 
up to that time been in his custody. 

The writer of the letter had undoubtedly not 
foreseen what an excitement his faded scroll 
would produce in a later generation. 

“ This is the student’s chest,” cried the Pro- 
fessor, the colom.' rising in his cheeks, while he 
held out the document to his friend. 


THE DRAINIA. 


153 


“Remarkable/’ said the Doctor; “it is im- 
possible that this Coincidence can he accidental.” 

“ The student’s chest was no will-o’-the-wisp,” 
cried the Professor, to his wife, in her room ; 
“ here is the confirmation.” 

“ Wliere is the chest ?” inquired Use, scep- 
tically. 

“That is just what we do not know,” replied 
the Professor, laughing, “ Here is a new track, 
indistinct, and in a new direction ; but it may 
lead shortly to the vanished parchment.” The 
friends hastened back eagerly to the bundle of 
records. “Old books,” exclaimed the Doctor; 
“ the house was a hunting castle ; the property 
came first, a generation before this letter was 
written, into the possession of this royal family; 
it is not probable that they themselves, in their 
short hunting visits, should have collected books 
there.” 

“Old books,” exclaimed also the Professor; 
“ it is possible that hunting journals and accounts 
may be meant; but it is not impossible that the 
chest may also contain some few things of the 
property of the monastery. Use, where is the 
old castle belonging to your Sovereign called 
Solitude ?” 

Use knew nothing of such a castle. 

“ It is possible that the Prince himself may 
give us an opportunity of obtaining more accu- 
rate information,”* 

“ Ah, you poor men !” said Use, through the 
door, pityingly. “ Now you are far w'orse than 
before ; as long as the treasure was still supposed 
to be in our house, my father at least co\ild keep 
a good look out ; but now, it is in a chest far 
away in the wide world, and no one knows any- 
thing even of the house to which it may have 
been carried.” 

The friends laughed again. “Your father’s 
house is not on that account less under suspi- 
cion,” said her husband, consolingly. 

The Professor sent back the contents of the 
chest to the Royal Council, expressed in his letter 
his warm thanks to the Prince, and mentioned 
that an uncertain trace made him very desirous 
to obtain permission to make personal inves- 
tigations. 

This letter had for both parties the desired 
result. The Prince had the satisfaction, which 
is valuable to earthly sovereigns, of appearing 
to confer a favour whilst he was seeking one. 

The Professor -was joyfully surprised when he 
received from the Council a letter in the name 
of the Prince, promising to promote in every 
way his investigations, and making the following 
proposal: The Prince wished his cabinet of 
antiquities to be examined by a scientific autho- 
rity, and there was no one to whom he would 
sooner trust this task than to the Professor. 
He know well how valuable to others was the 
work of so learned a man, but he hoped that 
his collection might appear of sufficient im- 
portance to him to spend some weeks upon it. 

At the same time the Chamberlain wrote, by 
desire of his gracious master, that the Prince 
would be delighted if the Professor would accept 
the hospitality of the Palace during the time of 
his stay. A garden pavilion, which was a pleasant 
spring residence, would be at his disposition. The 
dwelling was large enough to receive his family 
also, and he was commanded to suggest that 


there would be plenty of room if the Professor 
would bring his wife and servants, as the Prince 
did not wish that the learned man should be de- 
prived of his domestic comforts during his stay. 
The beginning of the spring would be the best 
time for both parties ; and the Chamberlain 
would be delighted to do the honours of the 
capital to his countrywoman. 

The Professor hastened with flying steps to 
his wife, and laid the letter in her lap, “ Here, 
read what endangers our journey into foreign 
parts. It will engross the greatest part of our 
travelling time. But I must accept the invita- 
tion; for any prospect, even the most distant, 
of obtaining the manuscript compels me to 
stake much that a man will only sacrifice for a 
great hope. Will you accompany me on this 
chase ? You see the kind people have thoui^ht 
of aU.” 

“la guest of our Sovereign !” exclaimed Use, 
reading the letter. “ Never should I have 
dreamt of such an honour. What will my 
father say of it ! It is a very honourable invi- 
tation for you,” she continued, seriously ; “ and 
you must at all events accept it. As for me, I 
think it may be best for me to remain here.” 

“ Wliy should we be separated for weeks ? — ■ 
it would be the first time.” 

“ Send me to my father meanwhile.” 

“ Does not that come to the same thing ?” 
asked the Professor. 

“ What shall I do amongst these strangers ?” 
continued Use, anxiously. 

“ Nonsense,” cried the Professor. “ Have you 
any reason to give ?” and he looked at her, dis- 
composed. 

“ I cannot say that I have,” replied Use. 

“Then decide at once, and come. We should 
probably feel more free if we could live as we 
liked ; but I should not wish to reside for weeks 
at an hotel in a foreign city ; and, in another 
point of view, this reception will save both 
parties the difficulty of oflering and refusing 
compensation. We shall remain there as long 
as is indispensably necessary ; then we will go 
south, as far as we can. It is, after all, only 
putting off the journey a few weeks.” 

When the Professor’s letter of acceptance 
arrived, the Chamberlain informed the Prince 
of it in presence of the Marshal. “ Take care 
that the pavilion is an’anged as comfortably as 
possible. Dinner Avill be served at the pavilion 
at whatever hour the Professor likes.” 

“ And what position does your Highness in- 
tend the strangers to occupy at Court ?” inquired 
the Marshal. 

“ That speaks for itself,” said the Prince ; “ he 
has the right of a stranger, and will occasionally 
be invited to small dinners.” 

“ But the Professor’s wife ? ” asked the 
Marshal. 

“ Ah ! ” said the Prince ; “ the wife ; it is true 
she comes with him.” 

“ Then,” continued the Marshal, “ there is to 
be dinner for two at the pavilion ; apartments 
for two, and a room for a lackey out of livery.” 

“ That is enough,” said the Prince ; “ for the 
rest, we shall see. If the Professor’s wife visits 
our ladies, I assume they will return the civility. 
With respect to the Princess, we will not en- 
croach uj)on her.” 


151 . 


THE LOST MANUSCRIl^. 


“What is the history of these strangers?” 
asked the Marshal, of the Chamberlain. “ You 
know the people.” ^ ^ 

“ As one knows people in a foreign city,” re- 
plied the Chamberlain. 

“ But you arranged their coming ?” ^ ^ 

“I only wrote according to the Prince’s 
orders. The Professor is a learned man of con- 
sideration and repute, and a thorough gentle- 
man.” 

“But what has his wife to do here ?” 

The Chamberlain shrugged his ^ shoulders. 
“ He could not be got without his wife,” he re- 
plied, cautiously. 

“ Yet the Prince made a point of her coming.” 

“ Did that strike you ?” asked the Chamber- 
lain. “ I did not remark it.” 

“ He made it appear as if it were a matter of 
indifference to him ; she is certainly a country- 
woman.” 

“You know that the Prince would be the last 
to infringe the rules of the Court. There is no 
reason for anxiety.” 

“At all events the Princess must maintain 
her position. I hear this Professor’s wife is 
considered a beauty.’* 

“ I believe she is also a w^oman of high cha- 
racter,” replied the Chamberlain. 

The Professor received the desired permission. 
Use made her preparations for the journey with 
a solemn seriousness wLich struck all around 
her. She w'as now to approach the presence of 
the Prince, w'hom she had regarded from a dis- 
tance with shy respect. It made her heart 
heavy to think that the son had never spoken of 
his father, and that she knew nothing of the 
illustrious Prince but his countenance and 
manner. She asked hei'self, anxiously, “How 
will he treat Felix and me ?” 

Whilst Felix w'as collecting for the journey 
all the books and documents wLich were indis- 
pensable, the Doctor w^as standing sorrow'ful in 
his friend’s room. He Avas satisfied that the 
Professor could not withdraw from the duty of 
seeking for the manuscript ; and yet his invita- 
tion to Court did not please him. The sudden 
break-up of their tranquil life disturbed him, 
and he looked sometimes anxiously at Use. 

Laura sat, the last evening, near Use, leaning- 
on her shoulder, w-eepiug. “ It appears to me,” 
said the latter, “that something portentous 
lies in my path, and I go in fear. But I leave 
you without anxiety for your future, although 
you have sometimes made me uneasy, you little 
stubborn puss ; for I know there is one wdio 
will be ahvays your best adviser, even though 
you should seldom see each other.” 

“ I lose him w-hen I lose you,” cried Laura, 
in tears. “All vanishes that has been the 
happiness of my life. In the little garden wLich 
I have secretly laid out for myself, the blossoms 
are torn up by the roots, the bitter trial of 
deprivation has come to me also ; and poor 
Fritz, w'ho already w^as practising resignation, 
will now' be quite lost in his hermitage.” 

Even Gabriel, who w'as to accompany the 
travellers to the capital, and await their return 
home from abroad at the house of Use’s father, 
w-as excited during this time, and often dis- 
appeared when it became dark to the house of 
Herr Hahn. The last day he brought home 


from the market a beautiful bird of uncoitimoa 
appearance, Avith coloured feathers, pasted on a 
sheet, wdth an inscription : “ feplendid cock 
from Madagascar.” Gabriel AATote, in addition, 
in clear, stiff characters : “ Faithful unto death.” 
This he took in the evening to the enemy’s 
house. A Avhispering might be heard there, 
and a pocket-handkerchief be seen, Avhich w’ipcd 
the tears from sorroAvful eyes. 

“ No allusion is meant to the name of this 
family,” said Gabriel, holding the bird once 
more in the moonlight, the beams of Avhich fell 
through the staircase w-indow upon tAvo sorroAA'- 
ful faces ; “ but it occurred to me as a remem- 
brance. "When you look at it think of me, and 
the Avords I haA'e Avritten on it. We must part, 
but it is hard to do so.” The honest youth 
pulled out his pocket-handkerchief. 

Dorchen took it from him ; she had foi-gotten 
her OAvn, and wiped her eyes Avith it. 

“It is not for long,” said Gabriel, con- 
solingly, in spite of his OAvn soitoav. “ Fasten 
the bird on the cover of your trunk, and Avhen 
you open it and take out a good dress, think of 
me.” 

“ Ahvays,” cried Dorchen, Aveeping ; “ I do not 
need that.” 

“ When I return, Dorchen, Ave Avill talk- 
further of what is to become of us ; and I hope 
all Avill go Avell. The handkerchief Avhich has 
received your tears shall be a remembrance for 
me.” 

“ LeaA'e it to me,” said Dorchen, sobbing. 
“ I must tell you I have bought avooI, and Avill 
embroider you a pocket-book. This you shall 
carry about you, and Avhen I Avrite, put my 
letters in it.” 

Gabriel looked happy, in spite of his soitoav ; 
and the moon glanced jeeringly doAvn on the 
kisses and a'ows Avhich Avere exchanged. 


CHAPTER XXVII . 

The Hereditary Prince Avas w-alkiug Avith 
the Chamberlain in the gardens Avhich sur- 
rounded the royal castle on three sides. He 
looked indifferently on the splendid colouring of 
the early flow'ers and the fresh green of the trees 
to-day ; he Avas more silent than usual ; w'hilst 
the birds piped to him from the branches, and 
the spring breeze Avafted fragrance from the 
tops of the trees, he played Avith his lorgnette. 
“ What bird is that singing ?” he asked, at last, 
aAvakening from his apathy. 

The Chamberlain replied, “It is a black- 
bird.” 

The Prince examined the bird Avith his glasses, 
and then asked, carelessly, “ What are those 
people before us carrying ?” 

“ They are chairs for the pavilion,” ansAveretl 
the Chamberlain ; “ it is being arranged for 
Professor Werner. The house is seldom open 
now ; formerly his most gi-acious Highness used 
to live there occasionally.” 

“ I never remember having been in it.” 

“ Will your Highness like to see the rooms ?” 

“ We can pass that Avay.” 

The Chamberlain turned toAvards the pavilion; 
the Marshal w'as standing at the door ; he had 


THE PRINCE< 


155 


come to SCO tliat everything was right. The 
Hereditary Prince greeted him, cast a cursory 
glance at the house, and was inclined to pass 
on. ^ It was a small grey-stone building, of old- 
fashioned style ; there were shell-shaped ara- 
besques round the doors and windows, and little 
dropsical angels held up heavy garlands of stone 
flowers, with ribbons which appeared to have 
been cut out of elephant’s hide; the angels 
themselves looked as if they had just crept out 
ot a dirty swamp /'and been dried in the sun. 
Ihe dark building stood amid the fresh verdure 
like a great commode, in which all the withered 
flowers that the garden had ever borne, and all 
the moss which the gardener had ever scraped 
li’om the trees, seemed to have been kept for 
later generations. 

“ It is a dull-looking house,” said the Prince. 

“ It is the gloomy appearance that has always 
pleased his most gracious Highness so much,” 
replied the Marshal. “ Will not your Highness 
examine the interior ?” 

The Prince passed slowly up the steps and 
through the apartments. The musty sitiell of 
the long-closed rooms hud not been removed by 
the pastilcs that had been burnt in them ; logs 
were blazing in all the chimneys, but the 
warmth W'hich they spread still struggled with 
the damp air. The arrangement of the rooms 
Avas throughout regular and complete. There 
were heavy 'portieres, curtains with large tas- 
sels, and fantastic furniture with much gilding, 
and white covers for the preservation of the 
silk, mirrors with broad fantastic frames, round 
the chimuey -piece garlands carved in grey 
marble, and upon it Avreathed vases and little 
figures of painted porcelain. In the boudoir, 
on a marble console, there AA^as a large clock 
under a glass shade ; a naked gilded nymph 
poured OA'^er the dial from her urn water, which 
Avas turned to gilded ice. Everything aa'us richly 
adorned ; but the Avhole arrangement, furniture, 
porcelain, and walls, looked as if no eye had 
ever rested on them Avith pleasure, nor careful 
housewife rejoiced in the possession of them. 
There were remarkable things from every part 
of the world ; first they had been placed in the 
large assembly-rooms A\'hich were opened at 
Court fetes ; they had ceased to be in fashion, 
and were moved into side rooms. It aa'us noAv 
their destiny to be registered from one gene- 
ration to another, and counted once a-year. 
Thus they passed a never-ending existence — 
preserved, but not used ; kept, but disre- 
garded. 

“ It is damp and cold here,” said the Prince, 
looking round upon the walls, and hastening 
again into the open air. 

" How do the arrangements please your High- 
ness ?” asked the Marshal. 

“ It does A'ery Avell,” answered the Prince, 
“ except the xdetures.” 

“Some of them certainly are rather incor- 
rect,” acknoAvledged the Marshal. 

“ My father would be glad if you would put 
these aside. When is Herr Professor Werner 
expected ?” 

“This evening,” replied the Chamberlain. 
“ Perhaps your Highness would wish to receive 
the guest after his arriA'al, or to pay him a visit 
youi’self.” 


“ You may inquire about it,” replic-d the 
Prince. 

When the Prince Avent Avith his companion 
up the staircase to his OAvn rooms in the castle, 
the Chamberlain began : 

, “ The Professor’s wife was very much pleased 
once with the fiowers which yom* Highness sent 
her. May I commission the Court gardener to 
put some in her room ?” 

“ Do AA'hat you think fitting,” replied the 
Prince, coldly. 

He entered his apartment, looked behind him 
to see if he were alone, and AA’ent Avith rapid 
steps to the AvindoAv; from thence he looked 
over the trim grassplot and the blooming bushes 
to the pavilion. He gazed long upon the Avin- 
doAA's, then took a book from the table, seated 
himself in the corner of the sofa to read ; but 
he laid the book again on the table, paced has- 
tily up and doAA'n, and looked at his watch. 

The Court dinner Avas over. The ladies cast 
a half look behind them to see if the back- 
ground was clear for their retiring curtsies. 
The gentlemen took their hats under their arms. 
The Marshal approached the door, and held with 
graceful deportment his gold-headed stick — a 
sure sign that the royal party was about to 
break up. The Princess, avIio A\^as still in 
mourning, stopped her brother. 

“ When do they come ? I am curious,” she 
asked, in a Ioav tone. 

“ They are perhaps already there,” ansAA'ered 
he, looking doAvn. 

“ I am going for the first time to the theatre,” 
continued the Princess. “ Come to the box if you 
can.” 

The Prince nodded. Information came to 
the Marshal, Avhich he conA’eyed to the Prince’s 
father. “ Your teacher. Professor Werner, is 
come,” said he, aloud, to his son. “ You Avill 
wish to pay your compliments to him.” He 
then boAV'ed to the Court, and the young Princes 
went behind him out of the room. 

The Chamberlain hastened to the pavilion. 
The Marshal folloAA’ed more quietly. A royal 
equipage had fetched the travellers from the last 
station. They passed rapidly by the trees in 
the park, the pleasure-grounds, and the lighted 
windoAA’s of the royal castle. The pavilion AA'as 
no longer a shapeless building, as it appeared in 
the day under the glaring sun to the indifferent 
eyes of the courtiers. The moon lighted up the 
front, it shone Avith a glimmering halo on the 
walls ; it threAv a silver glitter on the cheeks of 
the angels, and on the solid broad leaves of their 
garlands, and brought out strongly on the 
bright surface of the Avail the shadoAvs of the 
projecting cornices. Wax lights shone through 
the open door. Lackeys, in rich liveries, held 
heavy candelabra. The steward of the house, a 
civil man, in dress coat and breeches, stood in 
the hall and greeted the comers with polite 
words; behind the lackeys. Use ascended the 
carpeted steps, hanging on her husband’s arm, 
and AA-hen the servant threw back the portiere, 
and the roAv of rooms appeared shining with 
wax lights, she could hardly suppress her ex- 
clamation of astonishment. The stcAvard led 
them through the rooms, explained the disposal 
of them, and Use perceived, Avith rapid glance, 
how stately and comfortable they all Averc. She 


L5G 


IHE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


looked with admiration at .he abundance of 
llowers which were placed in the vases and 
bowls. She wondered whether her little Prince 
had shown this tender attention, but was un- 
deceived when the official declared that the 
Chamberlain had sent them. A pretty maiden 
was brought, who was to wait upon her exclu- 
sively. Gabriel stood in the ante-room con- 
sidering where he and bis traps would be taken, 
in order that the Professor’s boots might, in the 
aorning, do no shame to the splendour of the 
house. At last one of the lackeys showed him 
his room, and, like a good comrade, pointed out 
to him the lamps of a restauration, which for 
his leisure hours would be particularly agreeable. 

Use went through the rooms as if stupefied 
by their splendour, and endeavoured to open the 
window to let in some fresh air, for the strong 
fragrance of the hyacinths threatened her with 
headache. Then came the Chamberlain, behind 
him the Marshal, who was also a civil gentle- 
man of very refined appearance ; and both ex- 
pressed their pleasure at seeing the IVofessor 
and his wife. They offered their services on 
all occasions, and pointed out from the windows 
the position of the pavilion. Suddenly the 
lackey threw open the folding-doors, announcing 
“ His Highness the Hereditary Prince.” 

The young gentleman walked slowly into the 
room. He bowed silently to Use, and gave his 
hand to the Professor. “My father has com- 
missioned me to express to you his pleasure that 
you have fulfilled his wishes ; ” and, turning to 
Ilse, he continued : “ I trust that you will find 
the dwelling comfortable enough not to regret 
your residence at home.” 

Ilse looked with great pleasure at her Prince. 
He had, it appeared to her, grown a little. His 
demeanour was still rather depressed; but he 
had colour in his cheeks, and it was clear that 
things were not amiss with him. The little 
beard was stronger, and became him well. 

She replied, “ I scarcely venture to turn 
round. It is like a fairy castle. One expects 
every moment that a spirit will spring from the 
wall and inquire whether one wishes to go 
through the air ? or that four swans will stop at 
the window with a golden caiTiage. No chair 
is necessary to ascend to it, for the windows 
come down to the ground. The Park Street 
sends its homage, and I give your Highness 
heartfelt thanks for the present which the 
Chamberlain sent me for the last Christmas-tree.” 

The Professor approached the Prince, men- 
tioned to him the names of some of his col- 
leagues, who had sent to him their respectful 
remembrances, and then begged him to express 
to his royal father his thanks for this hospi- 
table reception. 

Everything seemed to emd in ornamental 
scrolls. The lamps shone from the silver 
chandeliers, the hyacinths sent out sweet fra- 
grance from every vase, the closed curtains gave 
the room a comfortable appearance, and on the 
painted ceiling a flying Cupid was represented 
holding a bunch of red poppies over the heads of 
the guests. 

“ To-day we will leave you to rest, as you 
must be tired,” said the Prince, concluding the 
visit ; and the Chamberlain promised to inform 
the Professor at an early hour the next morning 


when the Prince would receive him. Scarcely 
had the gentlemen gone when a servant an- 
nounced that dinner was served in the next 
room. 

“ Why, it is evening,” said Ilse, shyly. 

“Never mind,” replied the Professor, “you 
have taken the first step. Show a good 
courage.” He offered her his arm in a chival- 
rous style. The man in smart livery conducted 
them into the next room, and drew back the 
chairs of the richly-adorned table. There was 
no end of courses. In spite of Use’s protest a 
superabundant dinner made its appearance, and 
she said, at last, “ I must resign myself to every- 
thing. There is no use in struggling against 
these spirits. Whoever lives in a prince’s 
household must be bold enough to go through 
all.” 

When the dinner at last was carried away, 
and Ilse had been freed from her anxieties about 
Gabriel, she began to arrange her things busily. 
Whilst she was unpacking she said to her 
husband, “This is a very charming welcome, 
Felix, and I have now real confidence that all 
will go "well.” 

“ Have jmu ever doubted it ?’* asked the Pro- 
fessor. 

Ilse answered, “ Up to this hour I have had a 
secret anxiety, I know not why, but it has now 
vanished ; for the people here all seem so friendly 
and goodheai-ted.” 

As the Prince passed through the gardens 
back to the castle the two cavaliers behind him 
conversed together. 

“ That is an exquisite being,” said the Marshal 
— “ a beauty of the first order. There is good 
blood there.” 

“ She is in every respect a distinguished lady,” 
replied the Chamberlain, aloud. 

“You have already told me that once,” re- 
plied the Marshal. “I congratulate you on 
this acquaintance from the University.” 

“ How do you like the Professor ?” asked the 
Chamberlain, turning the conversation. 

“ He appears a clever man,” replied the 
Marshal, with indifference. “ It is long since 
the pavilion has had such a beauty in it.” 

The Prince turned round, and he saw by the 
light of the large chandelier that the gentlemen 
exchanged looks with one another. 

The Prince’s carriage drove up. He entered 
it without saying a word to his companions, and 
drove to the opera. There he entered the saloon 
of the royal box. 

“ How do the strangers like their abode at the 
pavilion ?” asked the Prince, kindly. 

“ They are content with everything,” replied 
his son; “but the rooms are damp, and would 
not be healthy for a prolonged stay.” 

“ They were never considered so, as far as I 
recollect,” replied the Prince, coldly, “ and I hope 
you will be convinced of it.” Then, turning to 
the Chamberlain, he said, “ To-morrow, after 
breakfast, I wish to speak to Herr Werner.” 

The Hereditary Prince went into the box to 
his sister, and seated himself silently her side. 

“ Wliere are the places for the strangers ?” 
asked the Princess. 

“ I know not,” replied her brother. 

The Princess looked behind her inquiringly. 

“The strangers’ box is opposite,” explained 


THE PRINCE. 


157 


the Chamberlain ; but tliey have enough to 
do to-day settling themselves.” 

“ What is the matter with you, Beuno ?” 
asked the sister, after the first act. “ You 
cough.” 

“ I have caught a little cold. It wdll pass.” 

After the theatre the Prince retired to his 
bed-room, and complained to Kruger of a head- 
ache and sore throat. When he was alone, he 
opened the window and look('d across the plea- 
sure-gi’ound to the pavilion, the lights of which 
slione like stars in the night. He listened. 
Perhaps he might hear some sound from thence. 
He found it warm, for he took off his necktie, 
and stood long motionless at the window, till 
the cool night air came into his room and the 
last light was extinguished. Then he closed his 
window gently and went to bed. 

This was not prudent, for the Prince, whose 
health w^as easily aflected, awoke the following 
morning wdth a severe cold. The doctor was 
hastily called, and the Prince was obliged to 
keep his bed. 

When the indisposition of the Hereditary 
Prince was announced to his father, it put him 
in a bad humour. “Just now,” he cried out, 
“ he has the misfortune of being a sickly person.” 
When afterwards the Professor was announced, 

. the way in which he received the announcement 
J was so cold and constrained that the Chamber- 
lain felt very anxious about the reception of the 
Professor. The long habit, however, of receiv- 
ing graciously, and the dignified bearing of the 
Professor, had a softening influence. After a 
few introductory words, the Prince began a 
conversation about Italy ; and it appeared that 
the Professor was in correspondence with a dis- 
, tinguished literary Roman, who was one of the 
Prince’s most intimate acquaintances when he 
was last in Italy. This gradually placed the 
Professor in quite a different light to the Prince. 
He had sent for him as a mere useful tool, but 
he now found he was a man Avho had claims to 
personal consideration, because he was known 
to others whose position -was respected by the 
Prince. The Prince then asked how the matter 
of the lost manuscript stood, and smiled at the 
eager zeal of the Professor, when he told him 
of the new trace which he had found in the 
records. 

“ It w’ould be well for you to make a memorial 
of the whole state of the affair that wdll assist 
my memory, and add to it what help you wish 
from me or my officials.” 

The Professor was very grateful. 

“ I will not deny myself the pleasure of taking 
you to the museum,” continued the Prince. “ I 
shall thus see what a learned man, who is a 
thorough connoisseur, thinks of the quiet amuse- 
ment of an iU-instructed collector.” 

The doors flew open, the learned man w'ent 
with the Prince into the spacious saloons. “We 
will first go rapidly through the rooms that you 
may obtain a general view of their contents and 
ai'rangeinents,” said the Prince. Whilst the 
Professor looked at the abundance of beautiful 
and instructive remains of antiquity, many of 
which were quite new to him, the Prince gave 
some account of them ; but soon left it to the 
learned man to search out for himself objects of 
interest, and it was now his turn to give ex- 


planations. Hei’e there was an inscription, 
which no one probably had copied ; there a 
specimen of pottery, with very interesting 
figures on it; then a statuette, a remarkable 
variation of a celebrated antique piece of sculp- 
ture ; here the unknown coin of a famous Roman 
family, with their coat of arms ; and there a 
long row of amulets, with mysterious signs. 

It was a great pleasure to the Prince to find 
out the importance of some of the simplest 
things, and to receive every moment new in- 
formation concerning their value and names, 
but the Professor had the tact to avoid long ex- 
planations. He looked with quite a youthful 
interest on the collection. It happened just at 
a time when he was not occupied with gi’cat 
works, he brought with him a lively suscepti- 
bility for impressions, and at every step he felt 
how charming were the new views which he 
obtained; for there was much here which in- 
vited a closer examination. He inspired the 
Prince with something of the enjoyment he felt 
himself. There was no end of his questions, 
and the answers of the Professor. The Prince 
was delighted to tell how he had obtained many 
of the objects, and the Professor, by relating 
similar stories of discoveries, led him on to give 
further accounts. Thus some hours passed with- 
out the Prince experiencing any weariness, and 
he was much astonished when he was told that 
it was dinner-time. “ Is that possible ?” he 
exclaimed. “ Y'ou understand the most difficult 
of all arts, that of making one forget time. I 
expect you at dinner ; to-morrow you shall sec 
the collection again, undisturbed by my remarks ; 
then you must favour me with a wTitten report 
of what is desirable with respect to the arrange- 
ment, so as to make the valuable objects service- 
able to science.” 

At dinner — there was no one present but 
some gentlemen whom the Professor, by the 
advice of the Chamberlain, had visited in the 
morning — the conversation was continued. The 
Prince related much about Italy, and contrived 
in a cursory way to draw attention to the per- 
sonal relations of the Professor with his own 
acquaintances, in order that his Court might 
know something about the man with whom ho 
was so much pleased. It was a pleasant flowing 
conversation, and before the Prince left the 
society, he turned again to the Professor, and 
said, “I desire much that you should feel at 
home with us, and I hope to pass more than one 
day as agreeably as I have done this.” 

To the Professor also it had been a refreshing 
day, and in going away, he said, in gi'eat spirits, 
to the High Steward : “ His Highness the Prince 
understands w^ell how to say kind things.’ 

The High Steward bowed 


That is 


his 

the 


white head 
vocation of 


civilly, and replied, 
princes.” 

“Certainly,” continued the Professor; “but 
so warm an interest in the particulars of a re- 
mote domain of scientific inquiry is more than 
I anticipated.” 

The High Steward made a courteous move- 
ment, which was to signify that he could not 
contradict that; he enveloped himself in an 
old-fashioned little mantle, bowed silently to the 
gentlemen wdio u'cre simihirly occupied, and 
entered his carriage. 


158 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


The mind nnd education of the Prince was 
superior to that of most of his fellow princes. 
In his middle age he had preserved much of the 
elasticity of his youth ; his bodily strength was 
considerable, and he took great care of his 
health ; he v'as still capable, in case of necessity, 
of exertions which would have been severe to a 
younger man. In his youth he had devoted 
himself open-heartedly to the ebullitions of the 
then fashionable poetry, and had indulged in 
higher and freer aspirations than other men. 
He had at that time corresponded with learned 
men and artists of repute, and he liked to tell 
of his intimacy with some man of prominent 
mind. But his youth and manhood had fallen 
in a weak and decrepid period of our develop- 
ment. In the years when a foreign conqueror 
had treated the German princes as the greater 
part of them v'ell deserved, he also as a youth 
had bowed to the foreigner, and abandoned the 
sinking vessel at the right time, in order io 
maintain his power in his country. Since that 
he had ruled over a pitiful race of men, for he 
had entered upon his government at a time of 
great national exhaustion ; he had found little 
that he was compelled to respect or fear, seldom 
any men firm enough to maintain their rights 
against him, and no public opinion that was 
strong enough to oppose his encroachment by 
a unanimous determination. His country was 
governed by officials, the official places were con- 
tinually increased, and a bundle of legal docu- 
ments were accumulated about every lost key of 
a village church : he allowed these prolix forms 
of proceedings which benumbed the life of the 
people to remain unaltered, and only took care 
that the officials, whenever his personal interest 
came into play, should be pliant servants, who 
would procure him money, and withdraw from 
publicity any past wrong dealings of their 
Sovereign. 

^Vhen he came into contact with his people, 
he was affable and good-humoured, made it easy 
for petitioners to approach him, listened kindly 
and sympathetically to all complaints, and threw 
the blame on the officials. He was not unpopu- 
lai’; sometimes the discentented grumbled at 
the high taxes, and over the costly expenditure 
of their Prince ; and, here and there, an anec- 
dote of his private life reached the publie ; but 
the new spirit of the times, which was beginning 
to stir also in his country, struggled only weakly 
in helpless assaults against the system of his 
government. And although as a ruler he 
showed no inclination of his own accord to 
remedy existing evils, yet, to those at a dis- 
tance, he appeared personally to be a humane, 
goodhearted man. He had a kindly acknow- 
ledgment and a gracious word for every one; 
he knew much of the private relations of his 
subjects, and showed occasionally his personal 
sympathy with individuals ; he loved children, 
for he would sometimes stop in the streets to 
notice pretty boys and girls, and inquire after 
their parents ; he gave every year a feast to the 
school children of his capital, appeared at it 
himself, and took pleasure in their games. 

His Court was in many respects a pattern of 
order and pleasing show. By all who surrounded 
him he was considered a distinguished man ; 
and contrived — which is most difficult for a 


prince — that those who daily associated with 
him should always have a feeling of his supe- 
riority. He had never been a military man, and 
he did not refrain from sarcastic remarks on 
the warlike propensities of other princes. His 
Court remained long free from the military 
element which prevailed in neighbouring Courts. 
Gradually, indeed, he made some concessions to 
the fashion, and his aides-de-camp became influ- 
ential members of the royal household ; but he 
was not on a comfortable footing with the officers 
of his household, and, in spite of his quiet 
manner, was always feared by these gentlemeji. 
There were hours when it appeared that his 
reserved character was not only accompanied by 
severity, but by something quite anomalous, in 
addition: at such moments, cynical jests or 
brusque irritating judgments fell from his lips, 
and he lost all consideration for the claims of 
those about him. But the young noblemen and 
aides-de-camp bore the secret thorn of their 
position without the loud criticism which is 
often expressed by the courtiers of sovereign 
princes, for the Prince understood how to treat 
them with respect before strangers. He held 
strictly to etiquette, even on their behalf, and 
cleverly took care of their interests in the 
matter of presents of courtesy, — orders and 
decorations, which foreign princes visiting his 
Court were bound to bestow; he never called 
upon them for anything contrary to the dignity 
of their office, and knew how to maintain his 
ovTi and that of his Court in intercourse with 
strangers. 

His wife had died early, and the inhabitants 
of the capital always preserved a grateful re- 
collection of the pale, delicate lady. It was said 
that the marriage had not been a happy one ; 
yet the sorrow of the Prince was strong and 
lasting. He always spoke with great tenderness 
of the departed, and every year, on the anniver- 
sary of her death, fastened a garland in her 
mausoleum. 

He had two children. The eldest, the 
Princess, had returned to Court after the death 
of her husband ; and the Prince, in the eyes of 
the Court and the people, treated her with 
especial regard. He had opened his whole 
heart to the Court chaplain about her. “ I 
should like to see her married again ; she has 
a right to look forward to a brilliant life, — her 
heart is warm, her nature energetic ; and from 
my experince, I consider a long state of widow- 
hood a bad thing for the Princess. But I fear 
she wiU resist. I have always been, perhaps, a 
weak father, to this child. You know, venerable 
sir, how much she has been my darling.” 

Thereupon the pious gentleman, with folded 
hands, exclaimed : “ I know it, and I know how 
warmly the heart of her Serene Highness is 
attached to her father.” The people also re- 
marked that the Prince was a good father. On 
every birthday the daughter was invited to a 
great Court teast; and when the Prince once 
happened to be travelling at this time, he ap- 
peared suddenly, contrary to all expectation, on 
the evening of the birthday, in his travelling 
dress, at the I*rincess’s opera-box, kissed her on 
the forehead before all the people, and said that 
he had hastened his return in order to wish 
her joy upon Ixovfcte day. Besides this, he neg- 


THE PRINCE. 


159 


lectcd^ no opportunity of showing her the little 
attentions which in every father give an im- 
pression of amiable chivalrousness, and in every 
ruling Sovei’eign are doubly v^ued. Before 
every ball he sent his daughter a nosegay, and 
every time had it brought by the head gardener 
into the castle to inspeet it himself. He was 
glad when distinguished travellers caused their 
arrival to be announced to the Princess, and 
always observed accurately whether she was "well 
entertained during their receptions. But, in 
spite of the great trouble the Prince took to give 
a good appearance to his relations with the 
Princess, it was considered that he had in secret 
a dislike to her. It may be possible for a 
prince to be incomprehensible to those who are 
in daily intercourse with him in certain import- 
ant concerns, but it is almost impossible to de- 
ceive them constantly. 

The position of the father with his son was 
very different. The latter, a sickly, shy boy, 
had been deprived of self confidence by the way 
in which his father had watched over his 
education. The boy had not the capacity to 
take his place with effect ; it was still a difficult 
task to him to overcome his shyness in his inter- 
course with strangers. When the list of persons 
invited was handed to him, and he considered 
what he was to say to individuals, apt questions 
seldom occurred to him, and what he did bring 
out was so awkwardly done that it was clear he 
had been prepared. Even to the persons of the 
Court the young Prince was silent and indifferent; 
the ladies and gentlemen were therefore inclined 
to assume that he Avas a little hHe. His father 
treated him with contempt, and his tone towards 
his sou sounded sometimes short and harsh, as 
if he could not take the trouble to conceal that 
he despised him. 

In this respect, however, injustice was done to 
the Prince. A reigning sovereign is easily led 
to consider his son as a young rival. The son 
will be his successor, and will, in the next 
generation, show his father up before all the 
world, upset all his arrangements, and be recon- 
ciled to all who have been discontented and his 
opponents. When he has become sovereign, it 
is impossible that he should not discover some- 
thing under the former Government that has 
been wrong, and everything will be brought 
before him in which his father has failed and 
done evil. This would have been reason enough 
for the Prince to treat his son with coldness and 
reserve. Now he was nobody, a powerless slave, 
who was indebted to his father for every thaler 
he had ; but some day he would be everything. 
But his son was in his eyes insignificant ; how 
entirely he moved without a will of his own in 
the prescribed track ; he had never defied him, 
was content with everything, and had yielded 
silently and respectfully to every order ; it was 
not to be supposed that he could really govern 
himself, still less would he put his father in the 
shade. Thus by degrees was added to the father^s 
quiet feeling of contempt, one of almost com- 
I)assionate kindness. The timid submissiveness 
of the Prince was very satisfactory to his father : 
it was very agreeable to him to provide, as he 
was well able, a support for the weak reed 
which was to carry on the future of his family. 
To him he show ed himself as he w^as : what he 


did for him was done with the feeling that he 
was benefiting another, not himself. 

But just now, wdicn he had been taking pains 
to procure a pleasure for the Hereditary Prince, 
he fell ill ! 

Use went wdth Gabriel through the rooms, 
trying to arrange them to please herself; she 
moved the tables about, examined the drawing 
of the curtains, and looked doubtfully at the 
porcelain vases. 

“I am surprised,” said Gabriel, “that amongst 
this beautiful furniture one thing should be 
w’anting, a cuckoo clock. That w’ould be very 
suitable : it gives life, when it opens its door, 
and makes profound obeisances as they do at 
Court. For they are very polite here, however 
deceitful they may be at heart. I have no con- 
fidence in the lackey : he asks me too many 
questions. How would it be taken if one got 
rid of him ? I could manage alone, with the 
maid, to do the housekeeping. There can be no 
cooking, for there is no kitchen ; one must go 
over there for every drop of warm w^ater, among 
the w’hitc jackets, that go about in the cellar 
like ghosts.” 

“ There is no use thinking of it,” said Use, 
decisively ; “ w'c must accustom ourselves to the 
regulations, pride must put up wnth much ; w'e 
have no secrets, and I know you will be cautious.” 

“ The gardener has placed a table and chairs, 
wdth fiow'ers about it, in front of the house,” 
said Gabriel. “ Shall I take your work dowm ; 
the sun appears warm ?” 

Use w'eut in front of the house ; near the door 
w'as a space bordered wdth plants in pots, a cosy 
spot in the warm midday sun : one looked from 
under the gi’cen cover over the paths and smooth 
turf, up to the w’alls of the castle. Use sat 
down on the garden chair, holding her em- 
broidery in her hands, but looking up at the 
large stone palace, that rose with its towers and 
new' wings, some hundred steps from her. 
There dwelt the great ones of the earth, near to 
w’hom she had been so suddenly brought. She 
counted the row's of w’indows, and thought that 
there must be more than a hundred rooms and 
saloons, all grandly and splendidly furnished, 
and she considered how many people it must 
require to fill such a building that it might not 
look empty and desolate. Approaching steps 
disturbed her thoughts. A gentleman of middle 
age was advancing up the gravel w'alk ; he drew 
near : it w’as the Prince. Use rose, alarmed : 
he came up to her slowly. “ Madame Werner?” 
he asked, touching his hat. Use curtsied low; 
her heart beat; she w'as unprepared for this 
meeting wdth him w'hom she had been accus- 
tomed from her earliest youth to consider the 
greatest man on earth. Though she had once 
seen him, it was but for a moment. Her 
thoughts, ever since the years when she had 
adorned him w’ith the crown and sceptre of a 
mock king at cards, had attached themselves to 
him with shy respect. Often when she had looked 
at the Hereditary Prince, she had endeavoured 
to form to herself an idea of w'hat his father 
must be ; w'hat she had heard of him had not 
helped to diminish her fears. 

The Prince looked wdth delight on the beau- 
tiful woman before him, who received his 
flattering greeting with silent embarrassment. 


160 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


“ You are no stJixnger to me,” he began, “ and 
you have reason to he satisfied with the years 
that have passed since my walk over your 
father’s farm. You are trying now our mode of 
life. We also take pleasure in the spring, and I 
see the sun casts friendly rays on the spot where 
yow settle yourself.” ^ 

He seated himself on one of the garden chairs, 
pointing at the same time to another. “ Do not 
let me interrupt your work. I am taking a 
walk, and beg to be allowed to rest myself on 
one of your chairs.” 

“ The work is in idle hands,” answered Use. 
“ I was looking at the castle, and thinking how 
large the household must be that requires so 
much room.” 

“ It is an old building,” remarked the Prince. 
“ Many centuries have contributed to increase 
it, and yet, in the opinion of the officers of my 
household, it is not large enough. One easily 
increases one’s requirements. But then, again, 
one rejoices in withdrawing into a smaller abode. 
I once lived myself in this pavilion, alone, with 
only a few necessary servants. Such solitude 
does one good.” 

“ That I can imagine,” replied Use, sympa- 
thisingly. “ But to us small people it is new 
to see so grand a style of life. The castle and 
its household among the blooming trees, are like 
large precious stones set in gold. It gives me 
heai’tfelt pleasure to have so near a view of your 
Highness’s home ; it helps to give one an idea of 
the mode of life of our gracious Sovereign.” 

“ You consider yourself then still as a child of 
our country,” said the Prince, laughingly. 

“That is natural,” answered Use. “From 
my childhood I have heard of your Highness as 
our ruler ; whenever I looked in the newspaper 
1 saw your Highness’s name ; everywhere 1 have 
seen your Highness’s pictures; and, since I 
have been old enough to go to church, I have 
prayed for your Highness’s happiness and 
health. This is a bond of union ; it is, indeed, 
only on one side, for your Highness cannot care 
about us all, but we think and care much about 
our Sovereign.” 

“ And speak of him sometimes with dissatis- 
faction,” replied the Prince, good-humouredly. 

“Just as it happens, gracious Prince,” re- 
plied Use, honestly. “ One does not always 
speak well of one’s neighbours ; but, in serious 
matters and in trouble, a good heart shows 
itself. So it is with the Sovereign, each one 
forms his own idea of him according to circum- 
stances, trusts in him, or is angry with him, 
and ends by thinking that he and his Prince 
belong to one another.” 

“ It were to be wished that so good a feeling 
might be shown by every subject,” rejoined the 
Prince ; “ but fidelity is wavering, and personal 
attachment disappears.” 

“ Many know too little of their Sovereign,” 
said Use, apologising. “ How can they care for 
him when they see so little of him ? For seeing 
does much : we at Rossau have seldom the 
honour of setting eyes on him.” 

“ The feeling of that country has been de- 
scribed to me as unsatisfactory.” 

“We are situated in a distant corner, but we 
have a heart. Your Highness will scarcely re- 
member the maidens at Rossau, M’ho received 


you seventeen years ago at the triumphal arch. 
There were twenty : the little toAvn coidd not 
produce any more. They all wore the national 
colours on their bodices and petticoats : they, 
of course, had to buy the dresses themselves. 
One of the maidens was miserably poor, but she 
was pretty, and did not like to be left behind, 
so she worked the whole week during the 
gi'eater part of the night, in order to procure 
money for her dress. In her last illness, for 
she died young, she asked to be buried in this 
dress, as that day had been one of greatest 
honour and pleasure to her. But your Highness 
was hardly able to stop there : you drove quickly 
through the triumphal arch, and perhaps did not 
even see the maidens.” 

Whilst Use was speaking, she was throwing 
secretly bread-crumbs by her side. The Prince 
observed her hand, and she made excuses. 
“ The finches call to their gracious Sovereign, 
‘Give, give.’ The little ones are very tame 
here.” 

“ They are probably fed by the servants,” said 
the Prince. 

“ To love animals is the fashion of our 
country,” exclaimed Use ; “ and tame birds suit 
well with a royal castle, for all here should feel 
joyful confidence.” 

The Prince’s glove fell to the ground, and as 
the loyal Use bent down hastily to pick it up, 
the Prince glanced for a moment at her head 
and form. He rose slowly. “ 1 hope, Madame, 
that you will be of the number of those joyful 
ones who place confidence in the possessor of 
this spot. As master of the house, I have made 
inquiry after the health of my new lodger. I 
wish that you may feel here some portion of the 
pleasure that you know how to impart to others.” 

He acknowledged civilly Use’s respectful 
curtsy, and returned to the castle. 

There the Chamberlain waited to report to 
him concerning the health of the Hereditary 
Prince. 

“ His Highness is, alas, still obliged to keep 
his bed.” ^ 

“ He must take care of himself,” replied the 
Prince, “ and not leave his room too soon.” 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The splendid iris colours wherewith Use had 
at first adorned her new abode gradually faded. 
As, instead of the steward and lackeys by whom 
she w’as received, there was now only a single 
servant, in a dark coat, to assist Gabriel, so 
everything else that surrounded Use appeared 
now in the modest colours of common earthly 
life. This w'as natural, and Use herself said so 
±0 her husband. But there was one thing she 
did not like, she was more separated from her 
husband than in the city. The morning and 
a portion of the afternoon he worked iu the 
museum, and devoted many hours also to his 
own object among the ai'chives and records of 
the Marshal’s office, w'hose private rooms were 
willingly opened to him. When he retmmed 
home he had often to dress in haste for the royal 
dinner, and Use dined alone. How'ever attentive 
the servant might be in bringing up the numer- 


IN THE PAVILION. 


161 


«us dishes, the lonely meal was umisual and sad 
to her. But a great many evenings were spent 
iu a new entertainment : a royal carriage used 
to stop at the pavilion, and convey her and her 
husband to the theatre. When for the first time 
she entered the private boxes near the stage, 
she rejoiced in the comfortable position, which 
allowed her to give her attention to the per- 
formance undisturbed by the public. When she 
leant back in her box she saw nothing of the 
spectators, except the Prince’s seat opposite. 
The theatre was very grand, much richer in de- 
corations and costumes than she had seen at the 
University, and there were some good singers at 
the opera. .Absorbed in the performance, she 
did not remark with what curiosity she was re- 
garded by the public, and that the Prince’s opera 
glass was ollen directed towards her. She soon 
found that the theatre was the best amusement 
of the capital, and her husband considered that 
this recreation was indispensable for her, although 
he pei'haps would have preferred remaining with 
his books, or examining a bundle of records from 
the archives.. Between the acts. Use looked with 
curiosity down upon the people, who were all 
strangers to her, and said to Felix, “ This is the 
only occasion when I have ladies near me.” 

jDuring the day she felt her solitude. Her 
father had a mercantile friend in i the city, to 
whom she made a point of going the first day, 
but in the family of the little merchant she 
found no one to suit her. According to the ad- 
vice of the Chamberlain, she w’ent round wnth 
Felix to pay visits to the Court ladies ; in most 
of the houses no one was at home, and she had 
to leave cards. Barely were these visits re- 
turned ; and it always happened that on her 
return home from the city, or from a walk in 
the gardens of the castle, she found the cards of 
some lady. This was annoying to her, for she 
wished to try how' she could get on w ith the 
ladies. Some, indeed, of the gentlemen of the 
Court used to present themselves to her in the 
morning, — the Chamberlain and the Grand 
Marshal, — but the visits even of the Chamber- 
lain. became shorter; he looked depressed, and 
spoke of little but the continued indisposition of 
the Hereditary Prince. 

Use was very anxious to know^ the Princess. 
The second day after her arrival the Chamber- 
lain announced that her Highness w ould see the 
Professor and Madame Werner at a certain hour. 
Use stood with her husband amidst the silk and 
gilding of the royal x*oom ; the door flew open, 
aud a young lady in half-mourning swept in. 
Use recognised at once that she was the sister of 
the Hereditary Prince : a delicate refined face, 
the same eyes, only more lively and brilliant, and 
an enchanting smile played round the delicate 
mouth. The Princess bowed her small head 
gravely, said a few civil words to her, and then 
turned to Felix, with whom she immediately en- 
tered into lively conversation. Use observed 
w ith admiration the ease of her manner, and the 
tact with which she could say kind things ; she 
soon discovered what a lively mind lay concealed 
within that lovely form, and her husband’s 
answers followed quick as lightning the intelli- 
gent questions of the illustrious lady. At the 
close of the visit the Princess turned again to 
Use, aud said how much her brother lamented 
11 


that his illness deprived hiin of the pleasure of 
seeing her. The w ords and tone were very kind, 
but there was a pride aud princely dignity in 
the manner which hurt Use. When the Pro- 
fessor on their return spoke with warmth of the 
charming lady, and exclaimed, “ That is an un- 
commonly bright mind ! Like her outward 
appearance, her inw’ard spirit has a fairy grace 
about it,” she was silent ; she felt that her hus- 
band was right, but she also felt that the Prin- 
cess had excluded her from the footing of inti- 
macy which she hud accorded to her Felix. 

Being in this state of mind, she was surprised 
and pleased at one mark of attention which 
was show n her. Since her interview with the 
Prince the head gardener brought her every 
morning at the same hour a vase of the most 
beautiful flowers, on the part of his Highness. 
This was not all : a few' days after the Prince 
came again, when Use was sitting, as before, iu 
front of the door. He asked whether it was not 
advisable, on account of the slight breeze that 
had sprung up, to enter the house; she took 
him into the room; he sat down there, and 
asked, as if accidentally, whether she was well 
amused, and had found any acquaintances in 
the city. He took so much interest about her 
that Use said to her husband, w hen he returned 
home,. “ How mistaken ai’e the opinions that one 
forms about strangers ! When I came here I 
thought the Prince was a thoroughly reserved 
man, but 1 find him very friendly, and he seems 
quite a good family man ; but with such a large 
household it may frequently be necessary to be 
strict.” 

The iPrince’s short visit was repeated. The 
next time he found the Professor with his wife. 
On this occasion he was more serious than before. 

“ How w'ere you satisfied w'ith the Hereditary 
Prince ?” he asked the Professor. 

“ Those who instructed him praised his in- 
dustry; among the students he gained popu- 
liirity, and there was general regret at parting 
from him.” 

The Prince remarked the word popularity. 

How did the Prince contrive to gain this ?” 

“ He show'ed an upright character and decided 
will, and one felt coufidence in him.” 

The Prince gave a searching look at the Pro- 
fessor, and perceived from his culm manner that 
this was not empty civility. 

“ The attachment of the students showed itself 
on the departure of the young Prince by a fes- 
tive serenade,” interposed Use. 

“ It was of their own free w’ill, and showed 
their warm feeling,” added the Professor. 

The Pi'ince remained silent. 

“ He won the hearts of the ladies also,” con- 
tinued Use, “ and we grieved over his Highness’s 
absence from our tea-parties.” 

The Prince still continued silent ; at last he 
began, in a bitter tone : ^ 

“ What you tell me surprises me. Considering 
you as the Prince’s instructor, 1 will speak as 
openly to you as to my household. The Pi-ince 
has a weak character, and I have no confidence 
in his future.” 

“ He gave us the impression of having, under 
all this shy reserve, the qualifications for the 
formation of a noble, firm character,” replied 
the Professor, respectfully. 


LG2 


THE LOST MANUSCRIFI’. 


Use thought that this was tne moment to in- 
troduce sometliing advantageous to the Prince. 

“ May I venture to tell your Highness, what 
my husband entii'ely approves of, that the Prince 
wishes far more knowledge concerning agricul- 
tural industry ? As I am myself from the 
country, your Highness will forgive me if 1 
should* say that this is the best school for our 
dear young Prince.^^ 

“ On the property of your father ?” asked the 
Prince, shortly. 

“ Wherever it may be,” replied Use, inno- 
cently. 

“ 1 have never heard him express any such 
wdsh,” concluded the Piduce, rising. “ In all 
cases I am grateful to you for the interest you 
take in his future.” 

He took leave with an air of reserve, and re- 
turned to his daily business. 

The day was a difficult one for all who had to 
do with him. He rode out with liis aide-de- 
camp into a hilly, woody country, where his 
soldiers, after a night march, were practising 
field service. Generally he cared little about 
military details, but on this occasion he har- 
rassed the aides-de-camp and soldiers by sudden 
changes of disposition. When the soldiers at 
last returned home exhausted, he went to in- 
spect a distant stud and a plantation, and wan- 
dered about for hours on rough hill roads. No 
one gave him satisfaction, — blame and bitter 
remarks alone fell from his lips. In the evening 
there was a Court concert; the aide-de-canjp, 
tired to death, stood in the saloon, counting the 
minutes till his retirement. Then the Prince, 
on withdrawing, called him to his study; there 
he seated himself in an arm-chair near the fire- 
place and gazed at the fire, occasionally put on 
a log, and held the silver handle of the tire-tongs 
in his hand, striking it at intervals on the ii’on 
bars of the grate. Meanwhile the aide-de-camp 
stood some steps behind him, one hour, two 
hours, till he was ready to faint. It was not 
till the middle of the night that the Prince rose 
and said, “ You must be tired; I will not detain 
you longer.” He spoke this mildly, but his 
eyes glittered with an unpleasant brilliancy, and 
the aide-de-camp ackuow'ledged later to his in- 
timate friends that he should not forget that 
look as long as he lived. 

“ For the third time the Prince has visited 
the pavilion,” said the Chamberlain, to the 
Hereditary Prince, w'ho was sitting in his room 
w ith his throat tied up. He looked down on 
the book w'hich was lying before him. 

“ Ho the guests seem to like their residence 
here ?” 

“ I cannot say that of the Professor’s wife ; I 
fear she is here in a difficult position. The 
marked distinction wffiich his Highness shows 
her, and certain old recollections which attach 
to the pavilion ” 

The Prince rose, and looked so indignantly at 
the Chamberlain that he became mute. 

“ The Prince was very ungracious to-day,” he 
continued, in a depressed tone. “ When I re- 
ported to him concerning your Highness’s health, 
I met with a reception w hich was not encou- 
raging.” 

The Hereditary Prince approached the 
window'. 


“ The air is mild, Weidegg ; I will endeavour 
to go out to-morrow'.” 

The Chamberlain w'as very uncertain how this 
decision of the Hereditary Prince w'ould be re- 
ceived ; he departed silently. 

When the Prince was alone, he tore off the 
shawl from his chest and threw it on one side. 

“ Fool that I was ! I w'ished to preserve her 
from gossip, and have exposed her to w'orse. I 
myself sit here in seclusion, and my father visits 
her in my stead. It was a cowardly device. If 
I cannot avert what impends over the poor 
creature, I wdll play my part in the game that 
is beginning.” 

When the Prince on the following morning 
went to his father, the latter began, with calm 
coldness : 

“ I hear from strangers that you have a desire 
to obtain some knowledge of agriculture. The 
wish is sensible. I will consider how you can 
find an opportunity to obtain this knowledge 
somewhere in the country. It will also be ad- 
vantageous to your health, and will agi’ee with 
your inclination for a poetic, quiet life.” 

“ I w’ill do what my dear father commands,” 
replied the Hereditary Prince, and left the room. 

Tlie Prince looked after him, and murmured ; 

“Not a word to be got out of him but 
cow'ardly submission ; always the same submis- 
sive patience. Not an eyelash moved when I 
ordered him to do w hat w-as unwelcome. Is it 
possible that this soft boy is a master of dis- 
simulation, and deceives me and all of us ?” 

If Use, in spite of the distinction w'ith which 
the Prince treated her, had a foreboding of the 
dark shadow which hung over the pavilion, far 
different was the tone of mind of her husband ; 
he lived in the midst of the interesting investi- 
gations to which the museum gave rise, and the 
poetry of his earnest mind w'orked busily, and 
cast a brilliant lustre over his sojourn in the 
capital. He was a hunter who trod with light 
step over his hunting ground, breathing the 
pure mountain air, w hilst around him the rays 
of the sun gilded the mossy ground and heather. 
The time had now’ come when that of which he 
had dreamt for years w^as within reach of his 
hand. It is true the new track of the manu- 
script remained indistinct. The fate of that 
chest which had been mentioned in the old 
letter could not be ascertained. In the Prince’s 
library, and in a collection of books in the city, 
there were found neither manuscripts nor other 
books which could be ranked among the posses- 
sions of the monastery of Kossau. He had re- 
new'ed his acquaintance with the Master of the 
Buckhounds, and he could mention no place 
where old hunting implements w'ere kept. He 
went through old catalogues of the Marshal’s 
office, and nowhere could the chest be discovered. 
But it w as more strange still that the name of a 
royal castle Solitude was quite unknow-n in the 
capital. Ihe castle, like one in an old legend, 
had vanished. But, strange as this circumstance 
w'as, yet the account of the student had won for 
this old letter of the official an importance which 
gave the searcher hopes of a goc^ result. For 
only a few’ years ago some one, who knew little 
of the value of such a narrative, had seen the 
liossau chest. It was no longer a deceptive image 
from a distant past ; on any day a lucky accident 


IN THE PAVILION. 


163 


might lead him to it. Probably only an acci- 
dent. But when the Professor gazed on the 
slate roof of the royal castle, and ascended the 
grand steps, he had always a bright anticipation 
that he was now’ near his treasure. By the help 
of the Castellan he had already examined the 
whole ground-floor of the castle; he had climbed 
up under the beams of the old roof like a marten, 
and had opened the old garrets, the keys of 
which had not turned for a generation. He had 
found nothing. But there w’ere other houses 
belonging to the Prince in the town and neigh- 
bourhood, and he w^as quite decided to examine 
one after the other secretly. 

In this time of restless agitation, w’hen his 
fancy was alw'ays opening new prospects, inter- 
course with agreeable persons w’as very refresh- 
ing. He himself, in this state of excitement, 
proved a good companion, and observed with 
cheerful interest the proceedings of those about 
him. The Prince showed him great distinction, 
and the young noblemen were complaisant ; he 
took his place among them with dignity and 
without pretension. 

The Chamberlain informed the Professor how’ 
much the Princess had been pleased with him, 
and Felix rejoiced when one forenoon she and 
her lady-in-w^aiting visited the museum, and 
begged for his guidance. When the Princess 
was going away, thanking him, she begged he 
w’ould mention to her some books from which 
she could herself learn a little about that portion 
of the life of antiquity, the ruins connected with 
which he had shown her ; she told him also of 
an ancient vase w'hich she possessed, and asked 
him to come and see it. 

The learned man was now standing w’ith the 
Princess before the vase. He explained to her 
the subject of the pictures, and told her some- 
thing about the old Greek pottery. The Princess 
led him into another room, and show’ed him 
some valuable sketches. “ I wush you to see all 
I possess of objects of art.” Whilst he W’as ex- 
amining these, she began, suddenly : “ You have 
now learnt to know us a little, and how do you 
like us ?” 

“ I have met with great kindness,” replied the 
Professor, “which is agreeable to one^s self- 
esteem ; it gives me pleasure to see a daily life 
so different from that of my circle and people, 
who are differently trained.” 

“ In what do you find us differently trained ?” 
asked the Princess, pressingly. 

“ The habit of acting your part fittingly^ at 
every moment, and maintaining your position 
among others, give persons an easy confidence, 
wdiich works very beneficially.” 

“ That w ould be an advantage which we 
should share w’ith every tolerable actor,” replied 
the Princess. 

“ At all events, it is an advantage always to 
play the same role.” 

“ You think, therefore, it is no longer art if 
we become adepts in it, and act our part well,” 
rejoined the Princess, laughing ; “ but in that 
also there is a danger ; w’e are from childhood so 
much accustomed to behave suitably, that it en- 
dungeiw our sincerity ; w'e observe the effect of 
our words, and we soon think more of the good 
effect than of the purport of what is said. I 
mj self, whilst talking with you, remark with 


pleasure hew much I please you, yet I am 
nothing more than a poor trifler. But if our 
aptness in presentation pleases you, in like man- 
ner we are attracted by a character that is calm 
and confident without attending to outward 
appearances; and perhaps a deficiency in the 
forms of society, and the plain speaking of a 
pow’erful mind are interesting to us, if they do 
not w^ound our feelings, for on this point we are 
very sensitive. Whoever w’ould wish to leave a 
pleasant impression, w’ould do well to treat our 
pretensions w’ith consideration. I do not wish 
you to treat me so,” she said, interrupting her- 
self, “ but I am solicitous on your account. 
Yesterday I heard you flatly contradicting the 
Prince. I beg of you to have a regard for our 
weaknesses. I should w’ish you to find it agree- 
able to remain long with us.” 

The Professor bowed. “If I opposed his 
views more w.armly than was necessary, it is 
because I lie under a temptation W'hich is dan- 
gerous to men of my calling. Disputation is the 
weakness of men of learning.” 

“ Good, we will reckon up our qualities one 
against the other. But you are in t!ie happy 
position of always attacking things boldly ; we, 
on the contrary, must be cautiously on the defen- 
sive. The great importance of external appear- 
ances is instilled into us from youth, and cannot 
be dispensed with. With you there is probably 
seldom any strife about precedence, and T fear it 
is very indifferent to you what place you take in 
our degrees of rank ; but these things are gi’eat 
events to us, not only to our Court, but still more 
to ourselves. Many of us are for days un- 
happy, because we have not taken our proper 
place at dinner. Many visits arc discontinued 
on that account, old alliances are broken off", and 
there is frequent quarrelling behind the scenes. 
When we occasionally meet with clever people of 
your stamp, we ourselves laugh over these weak- 
nesses, but few are free from them. I have 
already fought for my place at dinner, and made 
a great fuss about it,” she added, with good- 
humoured frankness. 

“ No one can entirely free himself from the 
ideas of his circle,” replied the Professor, cour- 
teously. “A century ago there was the same 
tormenting eagerness about rank and social 
precedence among the citizens. With us it is 
become different, since our life has been per- 
vaded with a strong intellectual element. In 
the future, even at Court, people will laugh at 
these things as ancient frippery.” 

The Princess raised her little finger threaten- 
ingly. “ Herr Werner, that was spoken again 
as the learned man : it was not polite. For, 
though W’e move entirely in the track of fashion 
and of Court manners, w’e do not remain behind 
those from whom we are socially separated.” 

“ Perhaps it is because you separate your- 
selves,” said the Professor. “The warmest 
pulse of our nation has alw’ays been in the 
middle class ; from them education and new 
ideas have gradually spread to the princes and 
the people. Even the peculiarities and weak- 
nesses of a period of cultivation rise to the 
throne generally half a century after the edu- 
cated middle class of the nation have suffered 
from them, and are only just appreciated there 
when they are already giving way among the 


161 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


people to some new tendency of the time. 
Tlierefore, it is often difficult for the prince and 
his people to understand each other.” 

“Oh, how right you are!” exclaimed the 
Princess, drawing nearer to him. “ It is the 
fate of princes, the misfortune of all of us, that 
the most valuable culture of our time seldom 
exercises a good influence upon us. There is a 
want of fresh air in the atmosphere in which we 
live, we are all weak and sickly. All who 
approach near us must accommodate themselves 
to our prejudices, and we accustom ourselves to 
regard men according to the rules which we 
liave devised for them ourselves. Have you ever 
before been brought into contact with any of our 
great rulers ?” 

“ No,” replied the Professor. 

“ Have you never sent what you have written 
to any of them ?” 

“ 1 have had no occasion to do so,” replied the 
Professor. 

“ Then you are unacquainted with the scale of 
favours which are shown to you learned gentle- 
men. Now, I must repay you for the delightful 
instruction you have given me about ancient 
vases, by giving you some instruction in return. 
Sit down opposite to me. You arc now my 
scholar.” The Princess leant back in her chair, 
and put on a serious face. “ We assume that 
you are pious and good, and look up respectfully 
to the handle of the Imperial globe that we hold 
in our hand. Your first presentation comes, — a 
distinguished-looking book; the title-page is 
opened : * Upon antique vases.’ Hum-ha— who 
is the man ? One informs oneself a little about 
him, and it is as Avell to have already had 
reviews of the work. Thereupon follows an 
answer of acknowledgment from the Council, 
short variations according to formula No. 1. 
Your second presentation makes its appearance : 
a beautiful binding, an agreeable impression, 
therefore a warmer acknowledgment in cour- 
teous expressions, according to formula No. 2. 
A third presentation : again a large volume, the 
gilt edges are unimpeachable ; the Council take 
the book up and weigh it. If the author is a 
small light, he enters the class of gold breast- 
pins ; if he is worthy of a higher consideration, 
from a well-kuoAvn name, and what is more 
effective w'ith us, from a title, he reaches the 
horizon of oi'ders. There are different classes 
of orders which are distributed to strangers, 
accurately according to their titles. Rut he 
who is persistent, and does not tire of showing 
fresh marks of respect, hops gradually, like the 
green frog, at intervals of years, to the highest 
rank.” 

“ Respectful thanks for the instruction,” 
replied the Pi’ofessor. “ I must be allowed in 
this case to take the Council under my protec- 
tion. Otherwise, what could the illustrious 
gentlemen do at last with indifferent presen- 
tations, especially if there are a multitude of 
them ?” 

“ It M’as a good-humoured example,” said the 
Princess, “ of how' beautifully we have arranged 
in all directions the steps to our favour. For 
the rest, we are, with respect to what we accord 
to people, not only civil, but economical, as far 
as regards ourselves. He who has no coloured 
ribbons to give finds himself in a great dilemma. 


But,” continued she, in a changed tone, “in a 
similar manner our chief occupation is in vain 
show and empty forms ; and as hundreds are so 
weak and abject that they are attracted in this 
way, we think we can thus attach millions to 
us.” 

“ Many small advantages may be obtained in 
this manner,” replied the Professor; “but there 
is one error in the reckoning : he wdio tries to 
attach men to him by their weakness, vanity, 
and pride, does not gain the best part of their 
life. In quiet times this attraction is unneces- 
sary, and in times of danger it has only the 
strength of a straw rope.” 

The Princess nodded her head. 

“ W e know that right w'cll,” ishe said, confi- 
dentially ; “and we do not feel comfortable and 
secure, in spite of the profuse distribution of 
honoui’S. What I tell you would sound like 
high treason to my illustrio\is relation, only be- 
cause I express it, not because I think it. Do 
not consider me as a white raven ; thete are 
wiser people than I who qiiietly form the same 
judgment ; but we cannot find our way out of the 
barrier, and we cling to it, although w'e know 
that the support is w'eak. For as t le humming- 
bird gazes on the sei-pent, so do w^e view the 
aspect presented to us by the present time, w ith 
a shudder and helpless expectation.” She rose. 
“ But I am a woman, and have no right to 
speak wdth you upon these important subjects. 
When I feel uneas}' I use the right of women — 
to complain — which I have done abundantly to 
you. For I have it at hcait; to please you, Herr 
Werner. I wish you to consider me as a 
woman who deserves something better than 
complaisant w’ords and courtly trifles. Allow 
me often the pleasure of rectifying my judgment 
by yours.” 

She put out her hand to the learned man 
w'ith hearty confidence. Werner bow'ed low', 
and left the room. The Princess looked after 
him W’ith a pleased expression. 

The Professor w’ent fresh from the conversa- 
tion to the pavilion, and told his w'ife all that 
had passed. 

“I did not consider it possible,” he ex- 
claimed, “ to find a woman of this rank with so 
liberal and high-minded a comprehension of her 
position. What was most charming was her 
lively and unconstrained manner — a charm that 
made itself felt at every moment, both in voice 
and movement. I am enchanted with the little 
lady. I will immediately prepare the book that 
she wdshed for.” 

He seated himself at the table, marked out 
passages, and wrote remarks on small strips of 
paper, which he laid within. 

Use was sitting by the window^ looking with 
open eyes at her husband. It was no wonder 
that the Princess pleased him. Use herself 
had perceived, with the sharp-sightedness of a 
woman, her pow’er of attraction. Here w’as a 
soul that, amidst the constraint of her Court, 
longed for intercourse with a man of liberal 
culture; here was a powerful mind that rose 
above the prejudices of rank, — clever, light of 
fancy, and quick of comprehension. Now this 
w'oman had found a man to whom she could 
look up, and wdth her little hands she cast hci 
fetters about him. 


TWO NEW GUESTS. 


1G5 


I 


i 


The room was becoming dark. Felix was 
still sitting writing and making marks. The 
rays of the evening sun shone upon his head, 
but the dark shadows of the unfamiliar room 
hovered over Use. She rose from her chair be- 
hind her husband, 

“ He is good to me,” she said, within herself; 

he loves me as one whom he has taken into 
his confidence. lie is not like other men ; he 
will not allow a stranger to take away my 
rights ; he is innocent as a child, and does not 
perceive the danger that threatens him and me. 
Take care. Use, not to awake the night wan- 
derer. I, fool ! What right have I to complain 
if another should benefit by his rich mind ? 
Have I not enough for myself of the ti’easure of 
his life ? No,” she exclaimed, and threw her 
arms round her husband’s neck ; “ you belong 
to me, and I will have you entirely.” 

The Professor raised his head, and his look of 
astonishment brought Use to her senses. 

“ Forgive me,” she said, feebly ; “ I was 
thinking.” 

“ What is the matter. Use ? ” he asked, 
kindly ; “ your cheeks are hot. Arc you ill ?” 

“It will pass over ; have patience with me.” 

The Professor left his bt)ok, and occupied 
himself anxiously about his wife. 

“ Open the window,” she begged, softly. 
“ The air of the close room feels heavy to me.” 

He was so tenderly concerned about her that 
she again looked cheerfully at him. 

“ It was a foolish weakness, Felix ; it has 
passed away.” 


, CHAPTER XXIX. 

^ The Professor was standing with the Cham- 
berlain and the Prince in the study. The latter 
held in his hand the memorial which Werner 
luul composed about the museum. 

“ Here 1 have an opinion concerning the ex- 
tent of the catalogue w hich you consider neces- 
sary. I am ready to agree to your proposals, if 
you will bind yourself to undertake the superin- 
tendence of the new' arrangement and of the 
catalogue. If you cannot do us this service, 
everything must remain as before, for only the 
great confidence which I have in you, and the 
w ish to keep you here, will induce me to make 
the necessary sacrifice. You see I make the 
undertaking dependent upon the degi’ee of 
' inclination which you yourself have for this 
work.” 

The Professor replied that his presence might 
be desirable for the first arrangements, and that 
he w'as ready to spend some w'eeks upon it. 

■ Afterwards, it w'ould be sufficient if from time 
to time he examined the progress of the work. 

“ With this, as a preliminary, I am content,” 
said the Prince, after a pause ; “ our contract is, 
then, concluded. But I see that it will be neces- 
sary to get some one who will carry out the de- 
tails under your guidance. Will the Curator be 
able to do it ?” 

The Professor thought not. 

“ And could yon propose any one ?” 

The Professor thought over the old members 
*f his (tircle. 


Now the Chamberlain suggested at once the 
fitting man. 

“ Would not Magistcr Knips do for this 
work ?” 

“Just the man,” said the Professor; “in- 
dustry, knowledge, everything about him, 
makes him peculiarly adapted for it. I believe 
that he may be had at once. I can answ'er for 
his trustworthiness with respect to the valuable 
objects. But I cannot take this responsibility 
upon me without imparting to your Highness 
that once in his life, from want of caution, he 
w'as implicated in a disagreeable business, that 
diminished the confidence, not only of myself, 
but of many of his acquaintance.” 

The Professor then related, with forbearance 
tow'ards all concerned, the history of the forged 
parchment sheet of Tacitus. 

The Prince listened with interest, and pon- 
dered. 

“ With respect to the safety of the collection, 
the old catalogue will allow’ of constant control. 
You consider the Magister innocent of this de- 
ceit ?” 

“ I do consider him so,” said the learned 
man. 

“ Then I request you to write to the man.” 

Some days afterw’ards Magister Knips entered 
the capital. He carried his travelling bag and 
hat-box to an unpretending inn, clad himself at 
once in the dress which he h.od once spoken of 
to his mother as a servant’s dress, and sought 
the Professor at the pavilion. Gabriel saw the 
figure in the distiince passing through the 
blooming shrubs, his head on his shoulder and 
his hat in his hand ; for Knips considered it 
proper to uncover his head in the precincts of 
the royal castle, and stepped on like a walking 
bow’ into the distinguished horizon. The Pro- 
fessor could not conceal a smile w'hen he saw’ 
the Magister thus courtly got up, polished and 
fragrant, standing before him, with two low 
obeisances. 

“ It w’as the Chamberlain who proposed you 
for this occupaticn, and I did not object to it. 
For on the supposition that you will be suitably 
remunerated, an opportunity for exertion is af- 
forded which may perhaps for ever raise you 
from your small daily work, and which, if 
honourably carried out, will entitle you not only 
to our w’armest thanks, but to those of tho 
whole learned w’orld. Your conduct here may 
therefore be decisive for the rest of your life. 
Remember, also, every hour, Herr Magister, that 
you have to show’ conscientiousness and fidelity, 
not only to learning, but also with respect to 
the property of the Prince, who has called you 
to this post of confidence.” 

“ When I read the letter of the right honour- 
able and highly revered Herr Professor,” an- 
swered Knips, “ I did not doubt that his kind 
benevolence intended to give me the opportunity 
of assuming a new character. Therefore, en- 
tering the portals of an unknowm life, I eptreat 
with deep emotion, above all, for the continua- 
tion of his good opinion, which I trust to be 
able to deserve by faithful obedience.” 

“ Good,” concludtjd the Professor; “announce 
yourself to tliC ChambeTlaiu.” 

Tlie day following Knips was sitting before 
a row of ancient lamps, with brown holland 


16G 


THE LOST MANUSCEII’T. 


sleeves to preserve bis dross coat, his pen behind 
his ear, surrounded by the books of the royal 
library; he opened them, compared, wrote, and 
was as active in his work as if he had all his life 
been a clerk in a knick-knack establishment of 
ancient Rome. 

Tlxe Chamberlain announced before dinner, 
with satisfaction, to the Hereditary Prince, 
“ Magister Knips has come and the Prince 
repeated to his sister, “ The wise Knips is 
here.” 

“ Ah, the Magister ! ” said the father, with 
equal good humour. 

The same week the Prince was taken by the 
Chamberlain into the museum, in order that 
Knips might fall under his notice. The Prince 
looked with curiosity at the lowly bent man, 
who perspired with fright, and who now quite 
resembled a mouse which is prevented by a 
powerful fascination from disappearing into its 
hole. The Prince discovered immediately what 
he called a subaltern nature ; and the pale flat 
face, retreating chin, and dolorous aspect, ap- 
peared to amuse him. In passing, he remarked 
the rampart of books from which Knips had 
emerged. 

“ You have quickly made yourself at home ; 

I hope that you will find there such books as are 
necessary.” 

“ Whilst renouncing extravagant wishes,” 
said Knips, in a plaintive high voice, “ I have 
taken upon me to borrow, in the deepest sub- 
mission, many useful works from your Most 
Serene Highness’s library ; but what is deficient 
I have, by the help of honoured patrons, ven- 
tured to procure from the collection of books 
from my native city.’* 

The Prince gave a short nod, and proceeded. 
Magister Knips remained standing in a position 
of humble submission till the Prince had left 
the room, then he returned to his chair, and, 
without turning to right or left, resumed his 
writing. Whenever the Prince entered or left 
the room he started up and sank down again, 
as if turned into an automaton by his great 
reverence. 

“ Are you satisfied with him ?” asked the 
Prince, of the Professor. 

“ Beyond expectation,” he answered. 

The Chamherlain, pleased by his recommenda- 
tion, reminded the Prince that he was also an 
excellent painter of coats of arms, and had 
remarkable knowledge of the customs and regu- 
lations of the old Court festivals. 

When the Prince left the gallery he gave a 
dignified glance at the bent head of the little 
man ; but Knips might well be pleased with the 
results of this presentation, for he was pro- 
nounced very respectful, and might be found 
useful. 

He had soon an opportunity of showing his 
usefulness in an extraordinary ease. The 
arrangements of the Court v^ere in every respect 
models, and not least when the Prince wished 
to show some mark of attention. A confidential 
councillor kept a list of every birthday on which 
the Prince was bound to make a present, and 
also of the popular festivals when it was neces- 
sary for him to present a silver eup or some 
other testimony of his royal sympathy. On this 
Ust was noted down the fixed value of the pre- 


sent ; and as the time approachea, tne councillor 
sent the necessary information to the Chamber- 
lain, whose business it was to choose a suitable 
present. On a royal birthday the Chamberlain 
only made suggestions ; the Prince himself de- 
cided what was to be given. 

Now the birthday of the Princess was 
approaching. The gentleman-in-waiting, there- 
fore, made a visit to her lady-in-waiting, in 
order to discover secretly what the Princess 
would like. In 'this not uncommon way many 
things were proposed ; the Chamberlain of his 
own idea added modern trifles, among them 
copies of coloured initial letters, wdiich just 
then were painted in albums and letter-sheets, 
for he knew that the Princess had wished for 
things of this kind. The Prince looked over 
the list, and at last stopped at the initial 
letters. 

“ These Parisian manufactures will hai’dly 
please the Princess. Could she not have 
painted letters copied from old parchments 
by a draughtsman ? Did you not extol 
Magister Knips to me ? He could prepare 
very pretty little designs.” 

The Chamberlain expressed respectful surprise 
at his Highness’s idea, and sought the Magister. 
Knips promised to paint all the letters of the 
alphabet in the old characters, and the Chamber- 
lain meanwhile looked after the cover. When 
the work of the Magister was laid before the 
Prince he was indeed surprised. 

“ These are like beautiful old miniatures,” he 
exclaimed ; “ how do they come here ?” 

Every letter was so painted on the old parch- 
ment that at a cursory glance it could not be 
discovered whether the work was old or new. 

The Prince looked long at the leaves, 

“This is an astonishing talent; take care that 
the man is compensated according to the value 
of his performance.” 

Knips M'ent into a state of respectful trans- 
port when the Chamberlain proved to him the 
satisfaction of the Prince in shining coins. 
But it did not end there. For shortly after- 
wards the Prince visited the museum at an 
hour when Knips w'as w'orking there. The 
Prince stopped again in front of the Magister, 
and said ; 

“ I w^as delighted with your pictures. You 
possess a rare aptitude: both eyes and judg- 
ment might be deceived by the appearance of 
antiquity.” 

“ Your most high Grace must forgive me if, 
on account of shortness of time, the imitation 
was imperfect,” replied the bowed-down Knips. 

“ I am quite contented with it,” rejoined the 
Prince, examining sharply the countenance and 
bearing of the little man. He began to vouch- 
safe a feeling of interest for the Magister. 

“ You must have had opportunities of exercising 
this art in a remunerative w ay ?” 

“ It has been reserved for your most high and 
princely Grace to render my little dexterity 
valuable to me,” replied Knips; “hitherto I 
have only practised such imitations for my own 
pleasure, or here and there to tease others.” 

The Prince laughed, and w'ent away with a 
gracious nod. Magister Knips was found to be 
vei-y useful. 

The Princess was sitting at her writing-table ; 


TWO NEW GUESTS. 


167 


the pen in her little hand flew over the paper ; 
bIjc looked sometimes into a book, which had a 
leaiTicd appearance, and wrote out passages 
which were designated by marks. Steps in the 
ante-room disturbed her work ; the Hereditary 
Prince entered, with an officer in foreiern uni- 
form. 

“ Sit down, children !” exclaimed the Princess. 
“ Put aside your sabre, Victor, and come to me. 
\ ou have become a handsome youth ; one can 
see that you have taken yoiu* place among 
strangers.” 

“ One fights one^s v'ay through,” replied 
Victor, shrugging his shoulders, and placing his 
sabre cautiously near, that he might reach it 
with his hand. 

“Be tranquil,’^ said the Princess, consolingly; 
“we are now safe ; he has business.” 

“ If he has said so, we must not depend upon 
it,” replied Victor. “ You have become serious, 
Siddy. Even the room is changed — books, 
nothing but books.** He opened one at the 
title-page. “ ‘ Archseology of Art.* Tell me, 
what are jmu doing with this lumber ?’* 

*‘One fights one*s way through,** repeated 
Siddy, shrugging her shoulders. 

“ Siddy protects learning,** explained the 
Hereditary Prince. “ We have now learned 
tea-parties,, she has pieces read and rCles dis- 
tributed. Take care, you will have to join it.** 

“ 1 only read about brigands,** replied Victor; 
“ or, at all events, about officers.** 

“ The inferior parts are my share,** said the 
Hereditary Prince. “ The best that comes to 
me is a gcod-humoured father, who at last gives 
his blessing.** 

“ He can express nothing but quiet goodness ; 
he protests if he has more than four verses to 
recite, and even with that there are pauses 
during which he fidgets with his lorgnette.** 

“ His proper vocation would be that of pastor,** 
said Victor, mockingly. “ He would favour his 
congregation with short sermons, and set them a 
virtuous example.** 

“ If he were only better than you, there would 
be no merit in it, Victor. You have the repu- 
tation of playing such naughty tricks 'lhat we 
are not allowed even to know them.** 

“All calumny !’* cried Victor. “ I am harshly 
judged in my regiment, because I am not rough 
enough.** 

“ Then Heaven preserve us from an inroad of 
your comrades. 1 am glad that you mean to 
pass your leave of absence in this gallery ; but I 
am surprised at it. You are free : the whole 
world is open to j’ou.** 

“ Yes, free as a jackdaw that is thrown out of 
its nest,** replied Victor ; “ but there are hours 
when it occurs to one that a garrison has not all 
the charms of a home.** 

“ And that you seek with us ?** asked the 
Princess. “ Poor cousin ! But meanwhile you 
have been campaigning. I congratulate you. 
We hear that you behaved gallantly.** 

“ 1 had a good horse,** said Victor, laughing. 
“You have also made a great tour among 
relations ?** 

“ I have examined the mysteries of three 
Courts,** replied Victor. “ First, with my cousin, 
the innocent shepherd*s Court, and charming 
still life. 'J'he Grand Marshal carries embroidery 


in his pocket, at which he works among the 
ladies. The lady-in-waiting comes with her 
spaniel to dinner, and has him fed in the kitchen. 
Twice every week people are invited from the 
city to tea and pastry. When the family are 
alone at their tea they play with hazel-nuts. 
I believe that they are collected in the autumn 
by the whole Court. Then I went to the Court of 
a gi’eai-uncle, with the six-foot grenadiers. 1 
was the smallest of the society. One day all werw 
in the costume of generals, the day after all 
were Nimrods, in hunting-coats and gaiters. 
One day it was drilling, and the next hunting. 
Powder is the greatest article of consumption of 
the Court. Even the ballet dancers, they say, 
wear uniforms under their gauze. Lastly, there 
was the great Court of Aunt Luise. All with 
white heads and poAvder. Any one with the 
hair of youth endeavoured to get rid of it as 
quickly as possible. In the evening virtuous 
family conversation, and if any talked scandal, 
they would receive the following morning from 
the Princess an order to contribute to some 
benevolent institution. The Princess Minna 
asked me M’hether I went diligently to church, 
and when I told her that at all events I played 
at whist regularly with our chaplain, I was held 
in great contempt. She danced the first country 
dance with her brother, and only the second with 
me. The evening society was collected accu- 
rately, according to their dignities, from the four 
compartments, each in a special division. There 
was the hall of the Privy Councillors, of the 
Chamberlains, and of the small folk of the 
Court ; and, besides that, a lower place for an 
unavoidable class of citizens, in which bankers and 
artists wait to be noticed by their Highnesses.’* 

“ Ihese fonnalities make us laughable to the 
Avhole world,” exclaimed the Hereditary Prince. 

The Princess aud Victor laughed at this sud- 
den ebullition. 

“ Since when has Benno become a Red ?” 
asked Victor. 

“ It is the first time I have heard him speak 
in this way,” said the Princess. 

“A prince should only invite gentlemen into 
his society; but Avhoever is there should be con- 
sidered as equal to the others,” continued the 
Hereditary Prince. 

Again the others laughed. 

“ We thank you for the wise saying. Professor 
Bonbon,” cried Siddy. 

“ It was in this room that we dressed you up 
as an owl. Bonbon ; and you sat here groaning 
under Siddy’s mantle Avhen the Prince surprised 
us.” 

“And where you received punishment,” replied 
Benno, “ because you had so disfigured a poor 
fellow.” 

“ Make him so once more,” cried Siddy. 

“ If you wish it.” 

Victor took a coloured silk handkerchief, 
formed two points by knots for ear-tufts, and 
covered the head of the Hereditary Prince, who 
quietly submitted. His serious face, with his 
dark eyebrows, looked strangely from under the 
covering. 

“ The feather-coat is wanting,” exclaimed 
Siddy ; “ we must imagine it. 1 am the quail, 
and Victor the cock. I know the melody that 
we used to improvise as children.” 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


ir>8 

She lit \v to the pianoforte and ran over the 
notes. The Hereditary Prince twisted the theatre 
bill, which he pulled out of his pocket, into a 
cornet, and cried into it, “Tu-whit, tu-whoo,’ 
Frau quail, I eat you.” 

The quail sang : “ Pik werwit old tu-whoo, do 
not do it.” And the cock crows, “ Cock-a-doo- 
dle-doo, dearest quail, I love you.” 

“ That has never been true, \ ietor,” said the 
Princess, in the midst of the game. 

“Who knows?” rejoined he; “cock-a-doodle- 
doo.” 

The concert was in full flow. Victor sprang 
about, clapped his hands and crowed ; the Here- 
ditary Prince on his chair screeched unweariedly 
like an owl ; Siddy moved her head in time, sang 
her pik-wer-wit, calling out occasionally, “ You 
are very laughable little boys.” A slight knocking 
was heard ; they quickly left ofl* their play ; the 
sabre was restored to its belt ; and the quail be- 
came in a moment the distinguished lady. 

“ His Highness the Prince begs to inform your 
Highness that he will wait upon you,” announced 
the page. 

“ 1 knew that he would disturb us,” cried 
Victor, in a rage. 

“Away with you, children,” cried Princess 
Sidonie. “ I must repeat once more, cousin, 
that I rejoice you are again with us. ' We three 
\^'ill hold together, lienno is bnive, and my 
only comfoi’t. Avoid, whenever the Prince is 
present, conversing with me. 1 will not take it 
amiss if you do not notice me at all. The spy 
who is placed about me is now my maid of 
honour, the Lossau. Every word that you speak 
in her presence is reported ; you know the gen- 
tlemen, they have not become more pleasant.” 

“ There is llenno’s Chamberlain,” asked Vic- 
tor ; “ the Prince was talking to him a long 
time to-day.” 

“ He is good-humoured, but weak,” remarked 
the Hereditary Prince; “and devoted to his 
place. There is no dependence on him.” 

“Be well conducted, Victor,” continued the 
Princess ; “ be a good Chinese, and wear your 
pigtail according to rule, and deport yourself 
exactly according to the privileges of the tuft 
that you wear on your cap. Now, away with 
you down the private staircase.” 

Princess Sidonie hastened to meet the Prince 
at the door of the reception-room. The Prince 
passed through the rooms to her study. He 
cast a look upon the open book : 

“ Who has made these marks ?” 

“ Herr VV'erner noted down for. me the most 
important passages,” replied the Princess. 

“ I am glad that you make use of this oppor- 
tunity to obtain instruction from so distin- 
guished a man. Apart from the pedantic man- 
ner which attaches to these bookworms, he is a 
remarkable man. I wish, on account of his dis- 
interested activity, to make his position as 
agreeable as possible, and 1 beg that you will do 
your best towaids it.’^ 

The Princess bowed silently, closing her hand 
convulsively. 

“ As it is impossible to bring him and his wife 
into closer relations with the Court, I wish you 
would invite them to one of your little tea- 
parties.” 

“ You must forgive me, my mosc worthy 


father, if I do not see how this can be. My 
evening parties have hitherto consisted only 
of mv ladies and the principal members of the 
Court.” 

“ Then you must alter them,” said the 
Prince, coldly ; “ you are permitted to intro- 
duce into it one or other of our officials, with 
their wives.” 

“ Pardon me, my father ; as this has never 
yet happened, every one would remark that the 
change has only been occasioned through the 
strangers. It would occasion much ill-natured 
remark if an accidental visit was to upset what 
has been the rule up to the present day.” 

“The consideration of foolish gossip should 
not prevent you,” replied the Prince, angrily. 

“ My gracious father must take a favourable 
view of the considerations which hinder my 
doing anything of the kind. It would not be- 
come me, a woman, to dispense with the habits 
and customs which my Prince and father has 
considered binding upon himself. You have 
deigned to permit the attendance of Herr Wer- 
ner at your small dinners, and I could, without 
giving any uncommon olfence, receive him at 
my tea-table. His wife, on the other hand, has 
never been brought into relations with the 
Court by my most gracious father. It w'ould ill 
become the daughter to venture what the father 
himself has not done.” 

“ This reason is a bad cover for ill-nature,” 
replied the Prince. “ Nothing hiudei's you from 
leaving out the whole Court.” 

“ I can have no evening society, however 
small, without inviting the ladies of the Court,” 
replied the Princess, pertinaciously ; “ and I 
cannot ask them to take part in a mixed 
society.” 

“ I will take care that Fraulein von Lossau 
shall appear,” replied the Prince, in a bitter 
tone. “ I insist upon your coufonning to my 
wishes.” 

“Pardon, my gi*acious father,” replied the 
Princess, in gi-eat excitement, “ if I do not obey 
you in this case.” 

“ Do you dare to defy me ?” cried the Prince, 
with a sudden outbreak of anger, approaching 
the Princess. 

The Princess turned pale, and stepped behind 
a chair as if for protection. 

“ I am here the only lady of our house,” she 
exclaimed ; “ and 1 have in this high position 
to pay regard to considerations from which, 
neither as the lord of this Court, nor as my own 
father, you can release me. If your Highness 
chooses to make new Court regulations, I will 
willingly conform to them ; but what your 
Highness requires of me now is not a new regu- 
lation, but an iiregularity which is humiliating 
for me and all of us.” 

“ Bold, insolent fool !” cried the Prince, no 
longer master of himself. “ Do you think you 
have outgrown my rule because *1 once let you 
go out of my hands ? 1 have brought you hero 

in order to hold you fast. Y^cu are in my 
power ; no slave is more so. Within these 
walls no power prevails but mine, and if you 
do not bend to it, I will break your stubborn 
spirit.” 

He approached her threateningly. The 
Princess drew back to the wjdl of her room. 


TWO NEW GUESTS. 


16S 


I know I am your prisoner/* slie cried out, 
with flashing eyes. “ 1 knew when I returned 
here that I was entering my prison. I knew 
that no cry of aiiguisli could penetrate these 
W'alls, and that a slave would find more pro- 
tection among men than the child of a prince 
from her father. But in this room I have a 
supporter, to whom I often look imploringly ; 
and if your Highness deprives me of the help of 
all living, I call upon the dead for protectiou 
against you.” 

She pulled the cord of a curtain, and the life- 
sized picture ot a lady became visible, in whose 
soft countenance there ivas a touehing expres- 
sion ot sorrow. The Princess pointed to the 
picture, and looked fixedly at the Prince. 

W ill your Highness venture to insult your 
daughter before the eyes of her mother ?” 

The Prince drew back, and gave vent to a 
hoarse murmur, turned away, and motioned with 
his hand. 

“ Cover the picture,” he said, with a feeble 
voice. “ Do not excite yourself and me unne- 
cessarily,” he began, in a changed tone. “If 
you do not choose to fulfil my wishes, I will not 
insist upon it.’* He took his hat from the table, 
and continued, in a softer tone : “ You are loved 
by the citizens ; the weather is as warm as sum- 
mer, and promises to last. I will, on your 
birthday, arrange to have a morning concert 
for the officials and the citizens in the park. I 
will send you a list of invitations through the 
Lord High Steward. In the evening we will 
have a gala-supper and opera.” 

The Prince went out of the room without 
looking at his daughter. The Princess followed 
him to the ante-room, w’here the attendants 
were standing. At the door she made a low 
curtsy. The Prince made a friendly sign with 
his hand. The Princess then flew back into her 
room, threw herself down before the picture, and 
wrung her hands. 

The Princes walked in the park, and the 
promenaders bowed and looked after them. 
The Prince took oft* his hat with the dignity of 
a man ; Victor touched lightly his hussar cap, 
and nodded sometimes familiarly to a pretty face. 

“All old acquaintances,” he began; “it is a 
pleasure to be home here.” 

“ You have always been a favourite of the 
people,” said the Hereditary Priiu'e. 

“ I have amused and provoked them,” replied 
Victor, laughing. “ I feel like Hercules with 
his mother earth, and am ready for any mis- 
chief. ' Benno, donot look so dejected; 1 cannot 
stand it.” 

“If you had, like me, to walk always at the 
same hour you would look so also,” replied 
Benno, stopping before an empty water-tank, in 
which four little bears were sitting, looking at the 
public, who were throwing bread to them. The 
Hereditary Prince took a piece of bread from 
the keeper, who approached him hat in hand, 
and threw it with indifference to the bears. 
“And if you had by royal command to show 
youi’self every day as the friend of the people, 
and feed these stupid bears, you would also 
w'eary of them.” 

“ Pooh ! ” exclaimed Victor, “ it only de- 
pends upon yourself to make these moon-calves 
amusing.*' 


lie sprang with one jump into the walled 
place among the animals, laid hold of the first 
bear as a sheep is carried to be shorn, threw it 
upon the second, and the third upon the fourth ; 
a horrible growling and clawing began among 
the bears ; they fought violently together, and 
the spectators shouted with pleasure. 

“ Your hand, comrade,” called oixt the Prince, 
to one of them, who was watching him with 
loud expressions of approbation. “ Help me 
out.” 

The person called upon was our friend 
Gabriel, who held out both hands. 

“ Here, your Excellence, quick, that they may 
not bite a hole in your uniform.” 

Victor sprang lightly up, giving his supporter 
a slap on the shoulder. 

“ Thanks, comrade ; if you are ever sitting in 
a hole, I will extend my hand to you.” 

The people cried “ Bravo ! ” with much re- 
spectful laughter. 

“ One must change the order of things here,” 
said Victor. “ If your father does not drive me 
away, I shall in a week deal with your Court as 
1 have done with the bears.” 

“ I have, meanwhile, caught it,” replied 
Benno, with vexation ; “ one man said to an- 
other, ‘ What a pity that that fellow has not as 
much courage ! * thereby meaning me.” 

“ Never mind ; you are the wise one in the 
eyes of judicious people; your virtues shine 
bright in comparison with mine. Now let me 
into your confidence. What lady of the theatre 
do you favour with your attentions, that I may 
not be in the way ? I do not wish to interfere 
with you.” 

“ Nothing of this kind is allowed to me,” re- 
plied Benno. 

“ Not allowed ?” asked Victor, astonished ; 
“ what kind of tyranny is this ? Has it become 
the fashion here to be virtuous ? Then impart 
to me, at least, what other lady, from political 
reasons, may only be admired by me in the 
I distance ?’* 

“ I believe that you have free choice,” replied 
Prince Benno, depressed. 

“ What a blessing tor me that I am not Here- 
ditary Prince ! But what has occasioned the 
Prince to invite me here so graciously ?” 

“ We do not know ; Siddy also was sur- 
prised.” 

“ And I, fool, thought she had a hand in the 
g^me.” 

“ If she had attempted anything of the kind, 
you would assuredly have had no invitation.” 

“ That he does not like me is clear. 1 had a 
cool reception.” 

“ Perhaps he wishes to have you married.” 

“ To whom ?” asked Victor, quickly. 

“ He has caused you to visit amongst our 
relations,” replied the Hereditary Prince, cau- 
tiously. 

“ He ? By no means. I was passed on from 
one to another, and everywhere treated as a 
smart youth. The whole was clearly con- 
certed.” 

“ Perhaps one of our great matchmakers was 
at the bottom of it,” said the Hereditary 
Prince. 

“ Not in my case, depend upon it. I am ill 
looked upon by the conclave of mothers of our 


170 


rHE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


fatherland, wlio take ;nto consideration the 
highest family feelings. They would not stir a 
fiuger for me.” 

“ If niy father has not done it, or none of our 
relations, the Lord High Steward must have 
done it.” 

“ Bless you for this supposition,” exclaimed 
Victor. “ If he wishes to have me here then all 
is right.” 

“ Have you spoken to him ?” 

I have beeu with him ; he talked to me 
about the campaign, and spoke in his usual 
friendly way, but nothing more.” 

“ Then it was him, you may depend upon it.^* 
But why ?” asked Victor. What can I do 
here ?” 

“ That you must not ask me ; he takes little 
heed of me.” 

“ Why do you turn away on every by-path 
from the pavilion ?” asked Victor. “ Have you 
j)laced steel traps there ? By Jove, what a 
glorious face ! Look, you dissembler ! So, you 
are become virtuous ?” 

The Hereditary Prince coloured with indig- 
nation. 

“ The lady up there deserves the most re- 
spectful treatment,” he said, moodily. 

“ Then that is the beautiful stranger,** cried 
Victor; “she is reading. If she would only 
turn a look this way, that one might see more 
than her profile. We will go there : you shall 
introduce me.** 

“ Under no circumstances,** replied the Here- 
ditary Prince ; “ least of all, now.** 

Victor looked at him with astonishment. 

“You refuse to present me to tliis lady ? I 
do not need it,** and he let go his arm. 

“ You are mad !” cried the Hereditary Prince, 
holding him back. 

“ I was never more in my senses,** rejoined 
Victor. 

He hastened up to a tree, the low branches of 
which nearly reached to the window, and with 
the agility of a cat he climbed up to the top. 
Use looked up and perceived the Hereditary 
Prince, and an officer perched up in a tree, and 
she withdrew from the window. Victor broke 
oil’ a switch, and touched one of the panes. A 
bell rang, a window was opened, and Gabriel 
looked out. 

“Always in the air, your Excellence,** he 
cried out; “what are your Excellence’s com- 
mands ?” 

“Make my respectful compliments to your 
lady, and request her to give me a moment’s 
interview on urgent business.” 

Use appeared, with her usual serious counte- 
nance, at the window, the servant behind her. 
Hie young gentleman held fast on by one hand, 
and raised the other to his cap. 

“ I beg your pardon, gracious lady, for 
choosing this unusual way of presenting myself 
to you, but my cousin underneath there has sent 
me up here against my will.” 

“ If your Highness falls down, you may take 
with you the full conviction that it w'as un- 
necessary to climb into the tree : the door of the 
house is always open.” 

Use retreated, and Victor bowed again. 

“ The lady is quite of my opinion,” he ex- 
claimed, reprovingly, to the Hereditary Prince, 


I “ that you have done very wrong in keeping me 
from the door.** 

“ There is no M’ay of getting out of this giddy 
scrape but by going there immediately to make 
your excuses,** replied the Hereditary Prince. 

“ That is exactly what I Mished,** cried 
Victor. “ One must always persuade men 
judiciously.” 

The Princes entered the house together, and 
Use received them with a silent curtsy. 

“This is the man,** began the Hereditary 
Prince, “of whom, gracious lady, I have often 
spoken to you. As a boy he was always called, 
by those who knew his character, ‘ the young 
buffoon.* ** 

“ Your Highness should not have done it,** 
replied Use, sorrowfully; “I am a stranger 
here, and more exposed to misrepresentation 
than others.** She then turned to the Here- 
ditary Prince. “ It is the first time that I have 
seen your Highness since your recovery.** 

“I am in danger of being again banished 
from your presence,** replied the Hereditary 
Prince, “ and it has been your wish.** 

Use looked at him surprised. 

“ You have imparted to my father the pur- 
port of a conversation that I once had with you,** 
continued the Hereditary Prince, in a tone of 
vexation. “ You have thereby caused the Prince 
to determine that I shall be removed from hence 
into the country.** 

“ I would not on any account that your High- 
ness should believe me capable of betraying a 
confidence. If the harmless words I spoke to 
your Highness’s father were contrary to your 
wishes, I can only say, in excuse, that they pro- 
ceeded from the warmest interest in your Hie:h- 

31 J tl 

ness. 

The Hereditary Prince bowed silently. 

“ This terzetto is only composed of disso- 
nances,” exclaimed Victor. “ We are all three 
vexed each by the othei*, — I most of all, who have 
exposed my disobliging cousin to the danger of 
entirely losing your favour, without having the 
opportunity of winning it myself. Yet I beg 
permission at some future time to introduce 
myself in a better point of view than I did upon 
the tree.** 

The Princes took leave. When they were 
clear of the house, Victor said : 

“ I only wish to know what I am to under- 
stand about the Professor’s wife. I perceive 
now that it is in no case advisable for me to lay 
my respectful homage at her feet. Do not be 
angry with me, Benno, — I will spoil no man’s 
game ; if you can make use of me, I am at your 
orders.” 

The Hereditary Prince remained standing, 
and looked so sorrowfully at his cousin that 
even he became serious. 

“ If you would do me a service for which I 
should thank you as long as I live, help me to 
procure the departure of those that dwell in that 
house from this country as quickly as possible. 

It will bring them no good fortune to remain 
near us.” 

“ Say it right out : they will believe you 
sooner than me.” 

“ What reason shall I give ?’* asked the Here- 
ditary Prince. “ There is only one, and I am 
ihe lust who should ventui’e to express it.” 


V 


TWO NEW GUESTS. 171 


“ The lady looks as if she could take care of 
herseh,” said V’^ictor, consolingly. “ I am more 
anxious about you. 1 see you are in danger of 
being for once of the same mind as your father. 
^ ill you not at least venture to raise objections 
it he wishes to send you away ?” 

y By what right ? ** asked the Hereditary 
Prince ; “ he is my father, Victor, and my sove- 
reign. I am the first of his subjects, and it be- 
comes me to be the most obedient. So long as 
he does not command me to do anything which 
is against my conscience, I am bound to obey 
him at once. That is the rule of conduct 'that 

have laid down for myself from my own con- 
victions.” 

“ But let us suppose,” rejoined Victor, “that 
a father wishes to remove his sou in order to de- 
vise mischief against another, in whom his son 
takes an interest ?” 

“ I still think that the son must go,” replied 
the Hereditary Prince, “ however hard it may 
be to him ; for it does not become him to foster 
in his soul suspicions of his father.” 

“ More son than Prince ! cried Victor ; 
“ and there is an end of it, virtuous Benno. 
Ah, Bergau, where are you going?” 

The Marshal, whom he accosted, replied, 
hastily, “ To the Pavilion, my Prince.” 

“ Ilave you heard any details,” asked Victor, 
mysteriously, “ concerning the alarm they have 
had at the castle of my great-uncle ? It 
was about a woman, or rather an apparition, 
which, in reality, was a spirit that entered as a 
spectre, with a great row, which began as a 
thundering noise and ended like a funeral 
march ; it made the doors shake, and the 
chandeliers jingle like a peal of bells. Have 
you heard nothing of it ?” 

“ Nothing. What apparition ? Vlien — and 
how ?” 

“ I do not quite know,” replied Victor ; “ but 
if you hear anything of it, I beg you to tell me.” 

This the Marshal promised to do, and hastened 
away. 

The Marshal was blameless in his service; he 
inspected conscientiously all the accounts, took 
care to have good wine in the cellar, and dis- 
charged well the ceremonial details of his office. 
Besides this, he was a woi'thy nobleman, but 
without any great intellect. He was, therefore, 
a valuable champion of the Court ; for he con- 
tended, with all the energy of a fanatic, for 
the venerated customs of his Court against 
the irregular pretensions of foreign guests, and 
was sometimes made use of by the Prince as a 
battering-ram to assault a wall which another 
would have gone cautiously round. He now 
came to Use, ill pleased at heart with the com- 
mission which he had been commanded to carry 
out dexterously. He found the Professor’s wife 
in an unfavourable mood. The boldness of 
Victor, and the secret reproach conveyed in the 
words of the Hereditary Prince, had made her 
discontented with herself, and suspicious of the 
uncertain position in which she was placed. The 
Marshal stirred long the bowl from which he 
had to pour; he turned the conversation to 
Use’s home and her father, whom he had met 
once at a wild-beast show. 

“It is a fine property, I hear, and he is a 
very respectable charaettr.” 


Use, taking pleasure in this praise of what 
was dear to her, entered unsuspiciously into the 
conversation, and told him of the neighbouring 
properties and their possessors. 

At last the Marshal began : 

“Your father is worthy of every distinction; 
forgive me, therefore, if I put one question : 
has your father ever had a wish to be en- 
nobled ?” 

“No,” replied Use, staring at the Marshal 
with astonishment; “why should he have such 
a wish ?” 

“I refrain from all observations upon the 
favourable effect which such an elevation would 
have upon the career of your sister ; that is ob- 
vious. One can easily conceive that modest self- 
respect may hinder a man from seeking these 
advantages. But I am convinced that his 
Highness the Prince, even for his owm interest, 
would be glad to confer such a favour ; for the 
position of your father, with respect to my 
gracious master, would become thereby much 
more satisfactory.” 

“ It is now a thoroughly satisfactory posi- 
tion,” said Use. 

“ Considering the personal relations into which 
you have entered with our royal Prinees, I may 
venture to speak openly to you,” continued the 
Marshal, M'ith more confidence. “ It would be 
very desirable for his princely Highness, and for 
us all, if, on the occasions of his Highness’s 
accidental presence in your country, he could 
find a house in which he might receive hospi- 
tality.” 

Use interrupted him in great astonishment. 
“ I beg of you, Herr Von Bergau, to explain 
yourself more clearly, for I do not understand 
these things. The Prince has already several 
times honoured our house with his presence.” 

The Marshal shrugged his shoulders. “In 
cases of necessity, the friendly offer of your 
father has been aceepted, but it has always been 
for a short time, as if alighting by accident; for 
even if your father, in his official position, was 
not quite unfitted for this honour, yet there was 
no lady who could do the honours of the house.” 

“ I performed the duties of this position as 
well as I could.” 

The Marshal bowed. “There was much con- 
sideration how the breakfast should be arranged 
without affi'onting the ladies of the house, and 
it was very welcome when your father entirely 
refrained from requiring the participation of his 
ladies. Allow me also to add, that a rise in 
your father’s position would be desirable for 
yourself. For your husband, as a learned man 
of distinguished merit, is in the position of ob- 
taining, on expressing a wish, a rank and position 
which would establish him as a member of the 
Court. And if this proposal should be carried 
into effect, it would give you, under certain 
limitations, an entrance there also. It would 
give the Prince and Princess an opportunity of 
receiving you at the castle, and invitations to 
irreat Court balls and concerts would be pos- 
sible.” 

ILse rose. “ Enough, my Lord, I understand 
you. I know what my father will do when you 
offer him that of which you speak ; he will laugh 
and reject the offer, and will say, if our citizen’s 
house is not goed enough for our sovereign to 


172 


THE LOST MANL'SCiiirT. 


enter, wc must rosij:;u the nonour. But I can- 
not reject it with the composure which I expect 
of my father ; aud 1 tell you, my Lord, that if 1 
had had an idea that I, us a lady, was not en- 
titled to enter tiiis society, 1 would never have 
set foot here.” 

Use, with difficulty, controlled the indignation 
which worked within her. The Marshal was 
confounded, and endeavoured to pass it off in 
ambiguous phrases j but Frau Use could not be 
dealt with ; she continued standing, and sc com- 
pelled him to depart. 

The Professor found his wife in a dark room 
brooding over what had passed. “ Will you 
have a patent of nobility ?” she exclaimed, 
springing up ; “ it will be prepared for you at 
once, and for my father also, in order that we 
may all have the advantages of becoming fit 
society for the castle without their feeling it a 
humiliation. It is unsatisfactory to them only 
to see us occasionally. I know' now why I dine 
alone, and why the Prince would not enter our 
sitting-room at Bielstein. We must have a new' 
name, that we may obtain the education and 
the manners which will make us worthy of 
going to Court. Aud not only us, but perhaps 
our children. Can you hear this without colour- 
ing w ith shame at our being here ? They feed 
us like strange beasts, which they have pro- 
cured out of curiosity, aud will again cast us out 
of the pen.” 

“Halloa, Bse!” cried Felix, “you are expend- 
ing more pathos than is necessary. What do 
the prejudices of these men signify to us ? Has 
not the Prince done everything to make our 
residence agreeable, according to what w'e are 
accustomed ? If the people here are obliged by 
the customs in w hich they have been brought 
up, aud by the regulations of their circle, to 
limit their intercourse with us to certain definite 
forms, w hat does that signity ? Do we wish to 
become their confidants, and to live w ith them 
as we do with our friends at home ? They have 
not deserved such an unfolding of our souls. 
When we came here w e entered into a simple 
business relation, and we undertook also the 
obligation of adapting ourselves to their rules 
of life.” 

“ And W'e are free to leave this as soon as these 
rules no longer please us ?” 

“ J ust so,” answered the Professor ; “ as soon 
as we have sufficient grounds for considering 
them unbearable. 1 think that is not the case. 
They require nothing of us that is degrading ; 
they show us the most assiduous attention : 
w hat does it signify if we do not partake in their 
daily intercourse, which w e have no right or 
reason to desire ?” 

“ Do not let us deceive ourselves,” exclaimed 
Bse. “ If in our city any one was to say to you, 
you may only look at my shoes, but not raise 
your eyes to my face ; you may only go out w ith 
me into the open air, but not come into my 
house ; 1 can eat with you standing, but not sit 
down at your table, as my dignity forbids me to 
do so, — what W'ould you, who live so proudly in 
your circle, reply to such a fool ?” 

“ 1 would endeavour to learn the reason of his 
narrow-mindedness, — perhaps pity him,- — per- 
haps turn away from him.” 

“ Then do so here,” cried Use. 


invited guests to whom the people of the housj 
close their doors.” 

“ I repeat to you that w'e are not guests w'ho 
are invited to associate with the people here. 1 
have been called upon for w'ork, and I have 
accepted this call, because I look for such great 
advantage in it to my branch of learning, that 
I W'ould bear far worse things than the unsatis- 
factory customs of the Court. 1 dare not set at 
stake these important interests by an opposition 
to social pretensions which do not please me. 
It is just because I have no particular respect 
for these rules that they do not disturb me.” 

“ But it grieves and makes one angry that 
people, in whose life one takes an interest, cling 
to such miserab.e l utiquated trifling,” cried Use, 
still bitterly. 

“ So that is it ?” asked Felix. “ We are 
anxious about the souls of the grandees ? There 
is something to be said on this point. There is 
an old curse on every privilege which falls to the 
lot of most who share in it. This may be the 
case with Court privileges. The life of our 
princes lies under the interdict of a small circle ; 
the views and prejudices of those around them, 
whom they are not free to choose, hedge them 
in from the first day of their life until the last. 
That they are not stronger and freer arises for 
the most part from the confined atmosphere in 
which they are kept by etiquette. It is a mis- 
fortune, not only for themselves, but for us, that 
our princes look upon the society of those that 
are not noble with the eyes of a gentleman of 
the bed-chamber. This evil one feels painfully 
when one comes into contact w'ith them. I 
think, undoubtedly, that the struggle w'hich is 
going on in diflerent parts of our fatherland w ill 
not come to a good conclusion, until the dangers 
are removed w Inch arise from the eflect of the 
old Court regulations on the training of our 
princes. But it appears to me they are already 
broken through in many places, and the time 
may come when all this nonsense will be the 
subject of good-humoured satire. For this 
etiquette of Court is, after all, only the remains 
ot a past age, like the composition of our guilds 
and similar ancient customs. So far you are right. 
But those who indulge in personal irritation, as 
you do now’, expose themselves to the stispieion 
that they are only angry because they themselves 
desire entrance into closed circles.” 

Use looked dow'ii silently. 

“ VV'hen you and I,” continued the Professor, 

“ come accidentally into personal contact with 
such modes of thinking, only one thing befits 
us — cool contempt and indifference. We wish, 
for the sake of our princes, to remove the im- 
pediments which limit their intercourse with 
their people ; but we have no wish or impulse 
to put ourselves in the place of those who now 
apparently direct the rulers of our country. For, 
between ourselves, w'e, who pass our lives in 
strenuous mental labour, would in general be 
bad cbmpanions for princes. We are deficient 
in the graceful forms and tact, and the easy 
complaisance of society. The stronger minds 
would be wounded by a feeling of dependence, 
and the weaker would become contemptible by 
abject subservience. Freedom of choice is all 
that W’e wish for our rulers. One feeling we 
may preserve without arrogance — all who sepa- 


For we are 


173 


TWO NEW GUESTS. 


rate themselves from our circle lose more than 
We do.” 

Use approached him, and laid her hand in his. 
“Iherefore, Frau Use,” continued her hus- 
band, cheerfully, “ be contented for these few 
weeks. If it should happen to you in reality to 
be an invited guest of the Court, then you may 
enter into negotiations concerning your preten- 
sions : and it in such a case you have to take 
exceptions, do it with a smile.” 

“ Do you speak so from the calm confidence 
of your soul,’* asked Use, looking searchingly at 
her husband, “ or because you have it much at 
heart to remain here ?” 

“ I have my manuscript much at heart,” re- 
plied the Professor ; “ for the rest, the loss of 
quiet is a greater deprivation to me than to you. 
You have from your youth, and especially this 
last year, taken a warm interest in the inmates 
of this princely castle. You have at times felt 
yourself bound intimately with them, and it is 
on that accohnt you are more wounded than 
needful.” 

Use nodded her head assentingly. 

“ Bear with it. Use,” continued her husband, 
encouragingly ; “ remember that you are free, 
and may any day leave it. But it would be 
more agreeable to me if you did not leave m^ 
alone.” 

“ W ould that be more agreeable to you ?” 
asked Use, tenderly. 

“ You little fool ! ” exclaimed the Professor. 

“ To-day we will give up the theatre, and have 
our evening reading. I have brought with me 
what will drive away all vexations.” 

He brought the lamp to the table, opened a 
little book, and began : 

“It happened, one Whitsuntide, that Nobel, 
the King of all the Beasts, held a Com’t,” and 
so on. 

Frau Use sat with her work in" her hand by 
her husband ; the light of the lamp fell on his 
countenance, which she examined searchingly, 
in order to read therein whether he still felt to 
her as before ; till at last the iniquities of the 
fox brought a smile to her lips, and she took the 
book from him, and read on quietly and com- 
fortably, as at home. 

“ How is Frau von Bergau ? ” asked the 
Princess, of her lady, the little Gotlinde Thurn, 
on the following morning. 

“ Very ill, your Highness. She has been 
much fretted by the sudden departure of her 
Husband, and her confinement is expected every 
hour.” 

“ Bergau gone away ? ” asked the Princess, 
astonished. 

“ The Prince has sent him to buy some porce- 
lain in a foreign town.” 

The Princess looked significantly at her confi- 
dant. 

“ b’orgive me, your Highness, if I venture to 
say,” continued the Court lady, “ that we are all 
indignant. Bergau had, it is said, a scene yes- 
terday with the foreign lady at the Pavilion ; 
and this morning early the Prince expressed 
himself, in giving his orders, in a way that made 
any reply impossible.” 

“ What has happened at the Pavilion ? ” 
asked the Princess, 


“ That one does not know,” replied the angry 
lady ; “ but, from some expressions of Bergau, 
one may conclude that the stranger has raised 
pretensions, demanded an introduction at Court, 
and threatened to leave. The presumption of 
the stranger is unbearable. We all beg that 
your Highness will be gracious enough to main- 
tain our rights.” 

“Good Linda, I am a dangerous ally for 
you,” replied the Princess, sorrowfully. 

The birthday of the Princess was kept both 
by the Court and city. Many people wore gala 
dresses; numbers pressed with their congratu- 
lations into the ante-chamber of the royal 
daughter; two servants had enough to do to 
present them with lists and pens to insenbe 
their names. The I*rincess received in full dress 
on this day. She appeared for the first time out 
of mourning, and looked lovelier than ever. In 
a side room, the door of which was open, stood 
the tables, which were covered with presents. 
Much were the splendid dresses which the Pinnce 
had ordered for his daughter admired by the 
ladies ; and scarcely less so the beautiful 
miniature work of the Magister by the connois- 
seurs. 

About three o’clock the concert began in the 
gardens of the castle. Gentlemen and ladies of 
the nobility, the officials, and citizens, entered 
the space allotted to them. The ladies of the 
Princess greeted and arranged in a large circle 
the female portion of the company, behind 
whom were the gentlemen, forming a dark set- 
ting; on one side the families of the Court, on 
the other those of the city. The courtly guests 
accommodated themselves easily to the compul- 
sory mathematical line ; it was only on the city 
side that there was a little irregularity. The new 
city councillor, Gottlieb, a distinguished butcher, 
pushed in from behind his wife and daughter, 
and placed himself in the front row; and it re- 
quired the positive directions of the lady-in- 
waiting to make him retreat to his place. 

“ I collect the taxes,”said Gottlieb, stubbornly, 
to those about him ; but even from his neigh- 
bours he received a reproving smile. 

When Use with her husband entered this so- 
ciety of strangers, she felt alarm at the cold, 
inquisitive looks on all sides. The Chamberlain 
led her to the first lady-in-waiting. The Baroness 
made her a cool acknowledgment, and pointed 
to the place where she was to be stationed — at 
the end of the Court side, opposite the door. 
The royal party made their appearance punc- 
tually, preceded by the Marshals ; the Princess, 
brilliant and smiling, on the arin of the Feigning 
Prince; the young Princes behind. The Prin- 
cess bent her head graciously to all around, and 
then began her walk round the circle. The sun 
shone with summer warmth, and all rejoiced in 
the beautiful day and in the happiness of the 
birthday child. The Princess looked enchant- 
ingly lovely, and showed, by her noble appear- 
ance and gracious manners, how well fitted she 
was to do the honours of a Court. The ladies- 
in- waiting preceded her, beckoning to indi- 
viduals to come forwaixl, and mentioning the 
names of those who were strangers to the Prin- 
cess. She had a kind word for every one, or 
a nod and sweet smile, which made all feel that 
they were noticed. The Prince appeared to-daj> 


174 


THE LOST MANUSCBIPT. 


amongst Lis citizens like the good father of a 
family. 

“A large number of old friends and acquain- 
tances,” he remarked, to the head Burgomaster. 
*‘I knew that this would be quite after my 
daughter’s own heart. It is for her a severe 
trial to meet again for the first time so many 
who have taken a friendly interest in her life.” 

But none of the ladies there looked with such 
eager attention on the circle of the Princess as 
Use. She forgot her anger at the prejudices of 
class, and the annoyances attendant on her soli- 
tary position among these strangers, and looked 
unceasingly on the young Princess. She felt, 
like all present, the charm of her gracious man- 
ner. This facility of giving pleasure to others in 
a few minutes merely by a look or word was 
quite new to her. She looked back anxiously at 
her Felix, who was watching u ith pleasure the 
graceful movements of the Princess. She came 
near, and Use heard her questions and answers 
to the fortunate persons with whom she was 
more familiar. Use saw that the Princess cast 
a fleeting glance at her, and that her expression 
became more serious. The Princess had lingered 
with a lady who stood in front of Use, inquiring 
with interest after the health of her sick mother; 
she now passed slowly by Use, bowing her bead 
almost imperceptibly, and said, in a low voice, 
“ I hear you wish to leave us.” 

The unexpected question, and coldness of the 
tone and look, roused the pride of the Professor’s 
wife, and, under the flash of her large eyes, the 
Princess also became more erect, and they ex- 
changed hostile looks, as Use answered ; 

“ I beg your Highness’s pardon, but I remain 
with my husband.” 

The Princess looked at the Professor : again a 
gay smile passed over her face, and she continued 
her progress. Use also turned quickly towards 
her husband, but he was looking about inno- 
cently, and, pleased with the world, he had not 
observed the little scene. 

The Prince, however, had ; for he stepped 
right across the room to Use, and began: 

“ Among old acquaintances we also greet the 
new ones. Not that this expression is applicable 
in your case to me and the Hereditary Prince ; 
for we owe thanks to you for the hospitality of 
your house ; and we rejoice to show you to-day 
the circle in which we live. I lament that your 
flither is not amongst us. I cherish the greatest 
respect for the useful energy of his life ; and I 
know how to value all his services to agriculture. 
He has gained a prize at the agi’icultural exhibi- 
tion; pray convey my congratulations to him. 

I hope his example will be followed tlwoughout 
the country.” 

The Prince understood well how to make up 
for the neglect of his Court to Use. A pi’o- 
fessor’s wife sets a great value on Court usages 
and high rank ; and when well-deserved praise 
is accorded by royal lips, before a distinguished 
assembly, to the man she loves, it rejoices her 
above all things. After the wounding question 
of the daughter, the, striking attention of the 
father was a great satisfaction. Use gave the 
Prince a look of deep thankfulness, and he now 
turned kindly to her Felix, and remained long 
talking with him. Wlien at last he went on to 
others, the uncommon consideration he had 


shown the strangers before the assembled com- 
pany had the usual result ; the gentlemen of the 
Court now thronged round Use and the Professor, 
to show attention also on their part. Use now 
looked about her uuth more composure, and ob- 
served how slowly the Hereditary Prince passed 
along the circle, singling out gentlemen and 
ladies according to a secret systematic rule, and 
at the same time stopping occasionally and mov- 
ing his eye-glass, as if he were taking something 
into consideration. Prince Victor, on the other 
hand, pursued a thoroughly irregular course, 
like a comet, whose points could only be deter- 
mined by looking out for the fairest faces. He 
had talked long with the daughter of the city 
councillor, Gottlieb, and had made the young 
lady laugh so much that she was alarmed at her- 
self, coloured, and held her handkerchief before 
her mouth. He then suddenly approached Use. 

“ Such an exhibition of flowers is cheerful,” 
he began, carelessly, as if speaking to an old 
acquaintance. One must, indeed, take into the 
bargain many prickly cactuses.” 

“ It must be very wearisome for the royal 
party, who have to speak to so many,” said Ilse. 

“ Do not imagine that,” replied Victor. “ It 
is pleasant to see so many people before one, who 
cannot grumble, because they are not permitted 
to do so; the royal blood bears still greater 
fatigues for this enjoyment. Do you know the 
game, * Do not turn yourself round ; the clumsy 
fellow turns round ?’ This is a variation which 
is arranged for the pleasure of the royalties; 
only that the slaps are not applied on the back, 
but in front.” 

The company were set in motion. The Prince, 
offering his arm to the Princess, led her into a 
large coloured tent. The guests followed, and a 
host of lackeys offered refreshments. After that 
the ladies seated themselves behind the royal 
family; the gentlemen standing round. The 
concert began with a majestic flourish of the 
kettledrums ; and, after a short time, ended by 
a furious onslaught of fiddles. The Princess 
now noticed some of the gentlemen, but with 
less regularity than the ladies. Ilse was engaged 
in conversation with Fraulein von Lossau, but 
the Princess stepped up to Felix Werner and 
asked eager questions. The Professor became 
animated, and explained ; the Princess asked 
more, laughed, and answered. The officious 
Lord High Stewai-d glanced secretly at the 
clock. It was high time for the ladies of the 
Court to dress for dinner, but the Prince nodded 
to him, looked contentedly at the Princess, and, 
in the best of humours, said to his son : “ To- 
day she reigns ; we will willingly wait.” 

“ My dear Highness forgets us all, she is so 
engrossed with the foreigner,” whispered Frau- 
lein von Thurn, to the Prince Victor. 

“ Calm your faithful heart. Dame Gotlinde,” 
said Victor. "Our Lady Bradamante has not 
used her conquering weapons for a whole year. 
She will try her powers to-day even upon a bald- 
pate.” 

The following morning the Princess sat among 
her ladies, and they talked, as usual, over the 
previous day, admired the Princess, condemned 
a little those who were absent, and expressed 
astonishment at the toilet and manner of a certain 
city lady. 


TWO NEW GUESTS. 


175 




But your Highness did not speak with the 
W'ife of the City Chamberlain,” exclaimed 
Gotlinde Thurn ; “ the poor woman considered 
that as a slight, ^and wept after the concert.” 

Where w'as she standing ? ” asked the 
Princess. 

“ Near to the strangers,” answered Gotlinde. 

*‘Ah, it w'as on that account,” cried the 
Princess. What is she like ?” 

“ A round little W'oman, with brown eyes and 
red cheeks. My brother lodges in her house ; 
that is how I know her. She makes admirable 
tarts.” 

“Make up for it to her, Linda,” said the 
Princess ; “ say something kind to her for me.” 

“ May I tell her that your Highness has heard 
of her good cherry-brandy, and would be glad to 
have some bottles of it ? That would make her 
toD happy.” 

The t^’incess nodded. 


“ The daughter of the City Councillor, 
Gottlieb,” said the Baroness Hallstein, “ will 
be a beauty.” 

“ Prince Victor forgot all but her,” cried 
Fraulein Lossau, wdth vexation. 

“ You may congratulate yourself, dear Betty,” 
replied the Princess, sharply, “ if you are for- 
gotten by my cousin. The attentions of the 
Prince are generally disquieting for the ladies 
who are favoured wdth them.” 

“ But w'e are all grateful to you,” exclaimed 
Baroness Hallstein, a lady of spirit and character, 
“ for having supported the Court with respect to 
the lady from the Pavilion. Your cool remark 
gave general pleasure.” 

“ Do you think so, Wally ?” said the Princess, 
thoughtfully. “ The woman is proud, and has 
braved me. But I had wounded her first, and 
on a day when I was doing the honoui’s.” 


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BOOK 1 1 Z 




CHAPTEK XXX. 

The year was altogether in a skittish mood. 
The woodcocks had betaken themselves to their 
homes before the sportsmen had cast off their 
boots, and the daflbdils had really bloomed in 
March. The moon, between its first and last 
quarter, smiled every evening with wry, distorted 
mouth. At Court the Princess had turned her 
mind to search after lost manusciupts with the 
Professor, and in the city an uncommon inclina- 
tion to Mai-trink was perceptible in the citizens 
and inclined them to daring undertakings. Even 
quiet heads were infected by the giddy intoxica- 
tion ; straw and paper ruled supreme. All the 
world wore not only hats, but also bonnets of 
straw; all the world occupied themselves with 
speculations and new investments. The house 
of Hahn was in the ascendant. The orders were 
so numerous that they could not be executed. 
In all corners of the house maidens sat sewing 
straw plaits together : the smell of the brimstone 
in the street and in the neighbour’s garden was 
insupportable. Herr Hummel sat in the evening 
on his upturned boat, like Napoleon at St. 
Helena, a vanquished man. With angry con- 
tempt he regai’ded the tumult among men. Ee- 
peatedly did his acquaintance call upon him to 
enter into the gi’eat movement, to become a 
member of some society, to found a bank, dig 
for coal, or smelt iron. He rejected all these 
proposals. When he went into his inactive 
workshops, where he was only occupied in a 
struggle with moths, his bookkeeper ventured 
to make a guess as to the newest shape of Paris 
hats ; he laughed wildly, and replied : 

“ I do not indulge in any suppositions as to 
the covering that people will require when these 
wild projects cease ; and if you wish to know 
what will be the next fashion, I will infonn you. 
People will wear pitch caps. I wonder that you 
still continue to sit at your desk. Why do you 
not do like others of your colleagues, who invest 
everything in wiue-shops ?’* 

“ Herr Hummel, my means do not allow of 
that,” i*eplied the depressed man. 

“ Your means,” cried Hummel ; “ who asks 
after that now ? Lucifer-matches are as good 
as ready money. The street-porters discount 
bills and give one another their likenesses. 
Why do you not live like the book-keeper Knips 
over there ? When I bought of the Italian a 
China-orange for my wife, I saw him sitting in 
the back room with a flask of champagne in ice. 
Why should you not put yourself in ice in this hot 
weather ? There are nothing but horrible hare- 
brained projects ; it is a Sodom and Gomori*ah ; 
the straw fire burns, but it will come to a fright- 
ful end.” 

Herr Hummel closed his counting-house and 
walked in the twilight into the park, where he 
wandered up and down on the frontiers of his 
territory like a spirit. He was awaked from his 


meditations by the "wild barking of the red dog, 
which rushed up to a bench in a shady part of 
the park, and bit violently at the boots and 
trousers of a man sitting there. Hummel ap- 
proached nearer; a small man and a young 
woman hastily separated. Hummel was suffi- 
cient man of the world not to let himself be 
seen, and he hastened back to his garden and 
continued his walk in wild strides. 

“I knew it; 1 have always said so; I have 
given a warning. Poor devil.” 

Then he went angrily to his own beech-tree 
and forgot the supper-hour, so that his wife had 
twice to call him from the garden. When he 
was sitting at table also he looked as dark as a 
thunder-cloud, and expressed such a deep con- 
tempt for human nature that the ladies soon 
became silent. Laura made another effort to 
lead the conversation to the wife of the Burgo- 
master, who had shown great respect for Hummel 
whenever she passed by, but he broke out with 
these terrible words : 

“ She is also nothing better than a woman.” 

That is enough, Hummel,” exclaimed his 
wife; “this conduct is very unpleasant, and I 
must beg of you not to indulge so far in your 
ill-temper as to let it deprive you of a proper 
judgment of the worth of women. I can forgive 
much, but never an insult to the nobleness of 
the female nature.” 

“Away with you and your noble female 
natures,” replied Hummel, rising from the 
table, and pushing back his chair ; he then 
rushed vehemently into the next room, where, 
in the dusk, he continued pacing to and fro 
angrily, for he was much disturbed about 
Gabriel. Certainly the social position of this 
man was not exalted ; he was not a relation, not 
a householder, not even a citizen. Therefore, 
Herr Hummel revolved in his mind whether an 
interference in the secret feelings of this man 
was befitting him. He did not come to a deci- 
sion without a struggle, but he could not silence 
the voice which sounded in the corner of his 
heart in favour of Gabriel. 

Meanwhile, the ladies were sitting at their 
disturbed repast. Laura looked down gloomily ; 
such scenes were not new to her, and they be- 
came more painful. The mother was in great 
consternation at this anger against the female 
world, and sank under the waves of stormy 
thoughts. At last she came to the conviction 
that Hummel was jealous. That was very 
laughable, and there was certainly no cause for 
such a feeling, but the vagaries of the man 
were inealculable. The comic actor had come 
the day before by her invitation, and he had 
been very entertaining ; he had enjoyed the 
wine and dinner, and on taking leave had kissed 
her hand with a true theatrical look. Was it 
possible that this look had produced the mis- 
chief? Now, Frau Hummel paced up and 
down, looked at the mirror in passing by, and 


TEASING TRICKS. 


177 


determined, like a valiant housewife, to hold 
forth to her husband this very evening on his 
folly. 

“ Go upstairs, Laura,” she said, softly, to her 
daughter, “ I wish to speak to your father 
alone.” 

Laura took the candle silently and carried it 
to her private table. She placed herself at the 
window and looked towards the neighbour’s 
1 ouse, where the Doctor’s lamp still glimmered 
through the curtains. She wrung her hands, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Away, away from here ; that is the only way 
to save myself and him.” 

Meanwhile, Frau Hummel had the supper re- 
moved, and, mustering courage for the impending 
encounter, at last entered the room in which 
Herr Hummel was still blustering about. 

“ Henry,” she began, solemnly, “ are you in a 
state of mind to consider calmly the circum- 
stance which has robbed you of all com- 
posure ?” 

“ No,” cried Hummel, throwing a boot at the 
door. 

“ I know the cause of your anger,” continued 
Frau Hummel, looking modestly down. “ No 
explanation is necessary for that. It is possible 
that he may have ventured sometimes in looks 
and small remarks more than was necessary ; 
but he is amiable and full of talent, and we 
must make allowances for his vocation.” 

“ He is a miserable fop,” cried Herr Hummel, 
hurling his second boot from him. 

“ That is not true,” cried Frau Hummel, 
eagerly. “ But if it were, Henry — even if you 
could judge him utterly unworthy, do not forget 
that pride and a feeling of duty dwell in the 
heart of your wife, and that your suspicion is 
an insult to these protecting genii.” 

“ She is a coquettish, silly goose,” replied 
Hummel, dragging his slippers from under his 
bed. 

, - - Frau Hummel drew back in disgust, 
j “ Your wife has not deserved this treatment, 
f You tread under foot what should be holy to 
you. Come to your senses, I conjure you ; your 
jealousy approaches to madness.” 

“ I jealous of such a person ! ” cried Hummel, 
contemptuously, knocking vehemently the ashes 
out of his pipe. “ Then I must indeed be out 
of ray mind. Leave me in peace with all this 
nonsense.’* 

Frau Hummel seized her pocket handkerchief 
and began to sob. 

“He has frequently enlivened me; he tells 
anecdotes as I never heard any one in my lite; 
but if he excites you, so that you^ lose your 
reason, and insult your wife in calling her by 
the name of a foolish bird, I have made many 
sacrifices during our wedded life, and he also 
must fall on the altar of domestic peace. Accept 
it, he shall never again be invited.” 

“ Who is he ?” asked Hummel. 

“ Who but our comic actor ?” 

“ Who is she ?” 

Frau Hummel gave him a look which showed 
that she herself was the lady. 

“ Is it possible,” exclaimed Hummel, in 
astonishment, “ that is how the land lies ? 
Why will you slaughter your theatrical buffoon 
on the domestic altar ? Rather put something 
12 


slaughtered before him ; that will be more agree- 
able for all parties. Be composed, Philippine. 
You are often unintelligible in your speeches, 
and you make too much ado; you spin your 
theatrical webs in your head, and you have your 
tempers and confused ideas ; but for the rest, 
you are my worthy wife, of whom no evil shall 
be thought either by myself or others. Now do 
not thwart me, for I have determined to write 
him a letter.” 

Whilst Frau Hummel, stupefied, seated her- 
self on the sofa, and considered whether she 
should be mortified or tranquillised by her hus- 
band’s praise, and whether she had been under 
a foolish delusion, or that her Henry’s madness 
had taken the new form of bonhommie, Herr 
Hummel wrote as follows ; — 

“ My good Gabriel, — Yesterday, on the l7th 
of this month, at 7.45 in the evening, I saw, on 
the bench No. 4 in the meadow, the Dorothy 
over the way sitting with Knips, junior. This 
is for a warning and further consideration. I 
am ready to act according to your orders. Straw, 
Gabriel ! — Your affectionate 

“ H. Hummel.” 

By the same post a letter flew from Laura to 
Use in the Pavilion. The faithfid soul wrote 
sorrowfully. The little quarrels of the house 
and the neighbourhood vexed her more than 
was necessary. Of the Doctor she saw little, 
and, what was the bitterest grief to her, she had 
given away the lust song ; she had nothing more 
to send to the Doctor, and wished to continue 
the correspondence without inclosures. Use was 
greatly surprised by one sentence, the sense of 
which was not very clear to her : “ I have ob- 
tained permission from Fraulein Jeannette to 
give lessons in her institution. I will no longer 
be a useless bread-eater. Since I have lost your 
society all is cold and desolate about me. My 
only comfort is, that I at least am prepared to 
fly into foreign parts, and there collect the 
grains which 1 need for the prolongation of my 
life.” 

“ Where is my husband ?” asked Use, of her 
maid. 

“ The Herr Professor is gone to her Highness 
the Princess.” 

“Call Gabriel.” 

“ He has received bad news, and is sitting in 
his room.” 

Immediately afterwards Gabriel entered, with 
a distressed countenance. 

“ What has happened ?” asked Use, alarmed. 

“ It is only my own concerns,” replied Gabriel, 
with quivering voice ; “ it is no good news which 
this paper has brought me.” 

He took out of his pocket Hummel’s crumpled 
letter, turned away, and leant his head against 
the window-sill. 

“ Poor Gabriel ! ” exclaimed Use. “ But is 
not an explanation possible that may justify the 
maiden ?” 

“ I thank you for your confidence in her, Frau 
Professoress,” replied Gabriel, solemnly; “but 
this letter informs me of my misfortune. He 
who has written to me is true as gold. But I 
knew all before I had received it. She did not 
answer my last letter; she has not sent me the 
pocket-book; and yesterday evening, when I 
went out and was thinking of her, a lark flew 


178 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


towards me and sang a song that made me cer- 
tain of it.” 

“ That IS folly, Gabriel. You ought not to 
let your judgment be influenced because a 
bird accidentally occasioned you sorrowful 
thoughts.” 

“It was clear, Frau Professoress,” replied 
Gabriel, sorrowfully. “Just as the lark flew up 
and I thought of Dorothy, the words occurred 
to me which I have heard as a child and never 
since. It is no superstition, and I can repeat to 
you the sentence : ‘ Lark, dear lark, high over 
the smoke, \\hat new thing have you to tell 
me V This thought came to me, and then I 
lieard, as distinctly as if some one was speaking 
the answer in my ear : ‘ I see two lovers by a 
hazel bush ; I hear a third lamenting. The two 
M’^alk over the threshold into the consecrated 
house ; the third sits alone and wipes his eyes.” 

Gabriel took out his pocket handkerchief. 

“ That was a certain foreboding that Dorothy 
had been false to me,” 

“ Gabriel, 1 fear she was always fickle- 
minded,” exclaimed Use. 

“ She has a heart like a bird,” said Gabriel, 
excusingly. “ She is not a serious person, and 
it is her nature to be friendly with all. That I 
knew; but her gaiety, light-hearteduess, and 
pleasant jesting, made her dear to me. It was 
a misfortune for me and her that I was obliged 
to leave her just when she was well inclined to 
me, and repulsing others who were showing her 
attention. For I know that the book-keeper 
had long had his eyes upon her, and had 
prospects which would enable him to marry hei’, 
and that was a better provision than I could 
give her.” 

“ Something must be done about this,” cried 
Use. “ Will you go back to the city and ascer- 
tain the rights of the case ? My husband will 
immediately give you permission. Perhaps 
things are not so bad.” 

“ For me it is as bad as it can be, Frau Pro- 
fessoress. If you will have the kindness to look 
after Dorothy, to see that she is not made un- 
happy, I will thank you from my heart. I will 
never see her again. If one loves any one, one 
should not leave them alone when they are in 
temptation.” 

Use endeavoured to comfort him, but Gabriel’s 
woi’ds went to her heart. 

“ The third sits alone,” she I’epeated, in a tone 
of lamentation. 

She was again alone in the hall, looking sadly 
at the strange walls. All the sorrow that had 
ever moved a human soul in this room, jealousy 
and wounded piide, feverish expectation and 
hopeless longing, mourning over the destruction 
of happiness and terrors for the future, the 
cries of anguish and groans of tormenting con- 
science, all these now awoke an indistinct and 
trembling echo in the heart of the woman. 

“ There is a sense of uneasiness here, and if I 
try to express in words what distresses me they 
tail me. 1 am no prisoner, and yet the air that 
surrounds me is that of a prison. The Chamber- 
lain has not been near me for days, and the 
young Prince, who used to speak to me as to a 
fi'iend, comes seldom, only for a few minutes, 
and it is worse than if he were not here. He is 
as depressed us I am, and looks at me as if he 


felt the same nameless anguish. And his father ? 
when he comes to me he is so kind that one 
cannot but like him ; but as S(X)n as he turns liis 
back his features appear Ijefore my miud dis- 
torted. It is not good to be near the great 
people of the earth ; they seem to take a fancy 
to one and open their heart as to friends, and 
one scarcely feels the elevation of mind occasioned 
by this, w hen teasing spirits seem suddenly to 
draw them back into their invisible realm, and 
one is troubled and excited about them. Such 
a life is destructive of peace. 

“ Felix says, one ought not to care about these 
frivolous people. How can one avoid interest 
and anxiety about them when the w'elfare of 
their souls is a blessing for all ? 

“ ‘ Is it only this that gives you such restless 
thoughts, Use ?’ were his words ; is it this, or is 
it pride, now wounded and now again flattered ; 
or is it anguish about the loved one whom she 
wishes secretly to tear from me ? 

“ Why am I so fearful about you, my Felix ? 
Why do I despair because he has found a woman 
here of the same stamp of miud as his own ? Am 
I not so also ? Have I not grown up in his 
light ? I am no longer the ignorant country- 
girl that he once fetched from among the herds. 
If I am deficient in the attractive charm of the 
distinguished lady ; what can she give him more 
than I ? He is no boy, and he knows that every 
hour I live for him. I despise you, miserable 
ideas ; how have you found entrance into my 
soul ? I am no prisoner within these walls, and 
if I linger here where you have power over me, 

I remain on his account. One should not for- 
sake him whom one loves, — that word wiuj 
spoken for me also. My father’s child should 
not sit lamenting in her room and wiping her 
eyes, even though her loved one should for 
once be sitting with the Princess under the 
hazel-bush.” 

Gabriel slipped away into a distant part of 
the pleasure-gi-ound. He suddenly felt a touch 
on his shoulder; Pi’ince Victor was standing 
behind him. 

“Friend Gabi*iel ?” 

“ At your Highness’s commands.” 

“ Where have you served ?” 

“ In the blue hussars.” 

“ Good,” nodded the Prince ; “ we are in the 
same branch of the service. I hear you are a 
trustworthy fellow. What are you in need of ?” 
He took out his purse. “ We will share ; take 
what you want.” 

Gabriel shook his head. 

“Then the women are in fault,” cried the 
Prince ; “ that is worse. Is she proud ?” 

Gabriel dissented. 

“ Is she faithless ?” 

The poor fellow turned away. 

“ 1 am, alas ! a bad intercessor with parents,” 
said the Prince, sympathisingly ; “ the race of 
fathers ha\ e little confidence in me. Hut if it 
is only a question of appealing to a maiden’s 
conscience, then make use of me.” 

“ I thank you for your good-will, Highness, 
but nothing can help me.” 

He turned away again. 

“ Pooh, comrade, have you forgotten the 
soldiers’ saying : ‘ Like all, love one, grieve for 
none ?’ If your heart is heavy, you should not 


TEASING TRICKS. 


179 


rove atout as you do. If you want another 
companion, will you in the first place put up 
with me 

“ That is too much honour,” said Gabriel, 
taking off his cap. 

The Prince had gradually led him during this 
conversation into athicket; he placed himself now' 
on the root of an old tree, and pointed out to 
Gabriel with his hand the next stem. 

“ Here we are in concealment j you look out 
that w’ay, 1 will watch this road, that no one 
may surprise us. How do your lodgings 
please you ? Have you found pleasant ac- 
quaintance ?” 

“ I think it prudent to trust no one here,” 
answered Gabriel, cautiously. 

“ Now I do not belong here ; there is no reason 
why you should not make me an exception. You 
may assume that we have served together, that 
we have sat by the same fire, and drunk out of 
one glass. You are right : all is not so safe 
here as it looks. I do not like these nocturnal 
disturbances in the castle. Have you heard of 
them ?” 

Gabriel assented. 

“ In such an old castle,” continued the 
Prince, “ there are many doors that few know 
— perhaps also passages in the w’all. Who 
knows w'hether they are spirits or something 
else ? It glides about and sometimes comes out 
when one little expects ; and just when one has 
put on one’s night%shirt a secret door is opened, 
or a plank in the floor rises, and a cursed appa- 
rition floats up, removes what is on the table, 
and before one can bethink one’s-selt^ disappears 
again.” 

“ W^ho can allow' such a thing, your High- 
ness ?” replied Gabriel, valiantly. 

“ Who can be on his guard ?” said the Prince, 
laughing ; “ it stretches out its hand, and one 
becomes immoveable; it holds a sponge before 
the nose of the sleeper and he does not aw'ake.” 

Gabriel listened attentively. 

“ People say that in the Pavilion all is not 
secure,” continued the Prince. “ It would be as 
well for a trusty man to make an examination in 
secret; and if an entrance should be found that 
is not regular it should be fastened with a screw 
or bolt. It is indc-ed uncertain w hether one may 
find anything, for such devil’s work is silly man- 
aged.” 

He nodded significantly at Gabriel, who stared 
at him, much excited. 

“ That is only a thought of mine,” said the 
Prince ; “ but w’hen a soldier is in foreign quar- 
ters he looks about him for security during the 
time that his people sleep.” 

“ I understand all,” replied Gabriel, in a low' 
voice. 

“ One must not give unnecessary alarm to 
others,” continued the Prince ; “ but in secret 
one may do one’s duty as a brave man. i see 
you are that.” The Prince rose from the root of 
the tree. “ If you should at any time need my 
help, or have anything to tell me which no one 
else should know, I have a fellow w ith a great 
moustache, a good, quiet man ; make his ac- 
quaintance. For the rest, take cure of your- 
selves here. There is a lackey w ho idles about 
near you ; if you litive any trouble with him, the 
other can dispose of him. It is a good thing fi'*" 


a family if there is a confidential man at hanfl 
in a strange house. Good day, comrade, I hojie 
I have changed the current of your thoughts.” 

He went away; Gabriel remained in deep 
thought. Hie bantering of the Prince had 
roused the honest man from his sorrow' ; he now 
occupied himself the whole day busily in the 
house, but in the evening, when his master and 
mistress were at the theatre, he was to be seen 
sometimes with the Prince’s servant in confi- 
dential conversation on a garden bench. 

The spirit of sad foreboding spread its grey 
veil over the walls of the Pavilion, but in the 
Prince’s castle meanwhile an invisible hobgoblin 
of another kind was at w'ork, disturbing high 
and low'. The stable w'as in consternation. The 
Prince’s favourite saddle-horse was a white 
Invenacker. When the groom in the morning 
went to the horse, he found it with a large black 
heart painted on its chest. He could not wash 
out the scandalous mark, probably the evil spirit 
had employed in this mischief a tincture in- 
tended for the hair of men. The connoisseurs 
declared that only time could heal the injury. 
They could not help making it known to the 
Prince, who was violently angry, and set on foot 
the strictest investigations. The night-watchers 
of the stable had seen no one, no stranger’s foot 
had entered the place ; only the groom of Prince 
Victor, a moustached foreigner, had, at the same 
time with the other stable servants, cleaned the 
horse, which he had lately received as a present 
from a relation. The man was examined, he 
spoke little German, was said by the other ser- 
vants to be harmless and simple, and nothing 
could be learnt from him. Finally, the stable 
helper who had kept watch was dismissed from 
service. He disappeared from the capital, and 
would have been reduced to great misery if 
Prince Victor had not provided for the poor 
devil in his garrison. 

There was a great upi*oar among the ballet- 
girls. In the new tragic ballet, tlie “ Water 
fcjprite,” the first dancer, Guiseppa Scarletti, 
had a brilliant role, in which she was to wear 
green silk trousers, with rich silver trimmings. 
When she w as to put on this part of the dress, 
which W'as very important for the role, for the 
first representation, her assistant was so awk- 
ward as to hand it to her wrong side foremost. 
The lady expressed her impatience strongly, the 
tirew'oman turned it round, audit w'as still wrong. 
Upon nearer inspection of this work of art, it was 
discovered, with dismay, that it had been closed 
together like a shell on both sides. The Scarletti 
w'eut into a fury, and then into tears aud nerv- 
ous fits ; the manager and the intendant were 
called; the artiste declared that after this shame 
and disturbance she could not dance. It w'aa 
not until Prince Victor, whom she highly es- 
teemed, came into the dressing-room to express 
his deep indignation, and tlie Prince desired her 
to be told that the insult should be punished in 
the strictest manner, that she recovered suffi- 
cient courage to play the difficult role. Mean- 
while the fairy-like rapidity of the theatrical 
tailor had remedied the injury to lier dress. She 
danced superbly, but with a sad expression that 
became her w ell. The intendant was already 
rejoicing that the misfortune had thus passed 
off, when suddeuly, in the midst of the last 


180 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


spectacle, when the whole extent of the stage 
was disclosed, the exchanged trousers appeared 
under Bengal lights in the water nymph’s 
grotto, hanging peacefully upon two projecting 
points of a silver rock, as if a water spirit had 
hung them up to dry. Upon this there w'as a 
disturbance, and loud laughter among the public, 
and the curtain had to fall before the Bengal 
lights were extinguished. It all looked like 
revenge, but again the culprit could not be dis- 
covered. 

The hair of the household stood on end. They 
knew that in the bad times of the royal house 
a black lady walked through the corridor and 
saloons, which portended misfortune to it. The 
belief in this u'as general ; even the High Mar- 
shal shared in it ; the black lady bad appeared 
to his grandfather, when, on a lonely night, he 
was awaiting the return of his gracious master. 
One evening, after the Court had withdrawn, 
the Marshal was walking, with the lackey carry- 
ing a light before him, through the empty rooms 
to the wing in which Prince Victor lodged, in 
order to smoke a cigar with him. Suddenly the 
lackey started back and pointed, trembling, to 
a corner. There stood the black figure, the 
head covered with a veil ; she raised her hand 
threateningly, and disappeared through a door 
in the tapestry. The light fell out of the hand 
of the lackey, the Marshal groped in the dark 
to the ante-room of the Prince, and sank down on 
the sofa there. When the Prince entered from 
his dressing-room he found him in a state of the 
highest consternation: even a glass of punch, 
which he himself poured out, could not recover 
him from his depression. The news that the 
black lady had appeared flew through all the 
rooms of the castle ; an uneasy foreboding of 
evil occupied the Court and household. The 
lackeys ran in the evening with rapid steps 
through the corridor, and were frightened at 
the echo of their own steps, and the Court ladies 
would not leave their rooms without escort. Tlie 
Prince also heard of it; his brow contracted 
gloomily, and at dinner he looked contemptu- 
ously at the Marshal. 

Even the Court ladies were not spared. 
Fraulein von Lossau, who lodged in a wing of 
the palace over the rooms of the Princess, re- 
turned to her apartment one night in the hap- 
piest state of mind. Prince Victor had paid her 
striking attentions. He had been very amusing, 
and had shown a degree of feeling which he had 
never before evinced. Her maidens undressed 
her, and she laid herself on her bed with pleasant 
thoughts. All was quiet : she fell into her first 
sleep. The image of the Prince danced before 
her ; then she heard a slight noise ; there was a 
crackling ; something moved slowly under her 
bed. She rose up ; the mysterious noise ceased. 
She was on the point of deluding herself into 
the belief that it was a dream, v hen the noise 
was repeated under the bed, and something came 
clattering out. She heard an alaiuning sound, 
and saw by the faint light of the night-lamp 
that a ball was slowly pushing itself behind the 
chair, and stopping in front of the bed. Only 
half conscious from terror, she jumped out of 
bed, touched a strange object with her naked 
foot, felt at once a shai’p pain, and sank back 
with a scream. She now raised a loud cry for 


help, till her maid rushed in, and tremblingly 
lit the candle. The Fraulein was still shrieking 
in a corner, where the prickly spectre-ball still 
lingered in quiet timidity, and gradually showed 
itself to be a great hedgehog, which was sitting 
there, still dreamy from its ivinter sleep, W’ith 
tears on its nose. The Fraulein became ill from 
fright. When the physician hastened to her the 
following morning, he found the lackeys and 
maid-servants collected in close conclave before 
her door. On the door was pasted a white pla- 
card, on which was to be read, in large charac- 
ters, “ Bettina von Lossau, Royal Court Spy.” 
Again there was the strictest investigation, and 
again the culprit was not discovered. 

But the teasing spirit which had quartered 
itself under the roof of the castle did not con- 
fine its ti-icks to the Court and its household : 
it ventured to disturb the Professor also in his 
learned work. 

Use >vas sitting alone, looking absently at the 
pictures of Reinecke Fuchs, when the lackey 
threw open the door, announcing, 

“ His Highness the Prince.” 

The Prince looked at the open picture in the 
book. 

“ So that is the view which you take of our 
position. The satire of those pages is bitter, 
but they contain imperishable truth.” 

Use closed the book, colouring. 

“ The ill-behaved beasts are rude egotists ; it 
is otherwise among men.” 

Do you think so ?” asked the Prince. “ Those 
who have had experience in them will not judge 
so leniently. The two-legged animals who pur- 
sue their aims around rulers are, for the most 
part, as reckless in their egotism, and as much 
inclined to profess their attachment. It is not 
easy to restrain their pretensions.” 

“ Amongst the bad, there are surely some 
better, in whom good preponderates ?” rejoined 
Use. 

The Prince inclined his head civdlly. 

“ He who has to survey all feels keenly the 
narrow-mindedness of every individual, for he 
must know where and how far he can place con- 
fidence. Such an observation of various natures, 
which is always seeking to separate the reality 
from the glitter, to sound the worth of different 
characters, and to retain for the observer su- 
perior judgment, sharpens the perception of the 
deficiencies of others. It is possible that we 
may sometimes judge too severely, whilst you, 
with your warm feeling, fall into the amiable 
weakness of viewing men in too favourable a 
light.” 

“ My lot, then, is happier,” exclaimed Hse, 
looking at the Prince, with honest pity. 

“ It is sweeter and happier,” said the latter 
with feeling, “to give one’s self up without 
restraint to one’s feelings, to associate innocently 
with a few whom one chooses freely, to avoid by 
slight effort the ill-disposed, and to open one’s 
heart gladly, and without restraint, to those one 
loves. But he who is condemned to live in the 
cold atmosphere of business, struggling against 
countless interests which clash together, can 
only carry on this existence by surrounding hia 
daily life with regulations which will at least 
preserve him from an overwhelming bui’den ol 
annoyances, and compel the foxes and wolves to 


TEASING TRICKS. 


Ixmd their stubborn beads. Such rules of Court 
and government ai*e no perfect work ; there will 
often be complaints against them. You, perhaps, 
may have had occasion to remark that the cus- 
toms and etiquette of a Court are not without 
harshness ; yet they are necessary, for it makes 
it easy to us to withdraw and keep within our- 
selves, and maintain a certain isolation, which 
helps us to preserve our inward freedom.’^ 

Use looked conscious. 

“ You believe uie,” continued the Prince, we 
still are men ; we would gladly give ourselves 
up to the impulse of the moment, and live with- 
out restraint w’ith those whom we value. We 
must often sacrifice ourselves, and we experience 
moments when such sacrifices are very severe.” 

“ But M'ithin the royal family itself these 
considerations do not apply,” exclaimed Use. 
“The mutual intercourse of father and children, 
brothers and sisters, these holy relations can 
never be disturbed.” 

A cloud came over the countenance of the 
Prince. 

“ Even they suffer in their exposed position. 
They cannot live together j they see each other 
less alone, generally under the observation of 
others. Each has his special circle of interest, 
is influenced by those about him, who perhaps 
diminish his confidence in his nearest relations. 
You know my son; he has all the qualifications 
of a good, open-hearted man, but you will have 
observed how suspicious and reserved he has 
become.” 

Use forgot all caution, and felt again a little 
proud of being a confidante. 

“Forgive me,” she exclaimed ; “ I have nev^er 
found that; he is only shy, and sometimes a 
little awkward.” 

The Prince smiled. 

“You lately expressed an opinion of what 
would be advantageous for his future. That he 
should for a time become acquainted with the 
management of a large family property ; it 
would undoubtedly be good for him to learn 
from his own observation the work of a country 
gentleman. Besides this, he is not happy at 
Court.” 

Use nodded. 

“ Have you also remarked that ?” asked the 
Prince. 

“I will give good advice for my Prince,” 
thought Use, “ even if it is not quite agreeable to 
him. May I venture to say,” she exclaimed, 
“that this is the best time. For, gracious 
Prince, he mast learn the spring cropping, 
which is in full operation, so there must be no 
delay.” 

The Prince was much pleased with this zeal. 

“It will not be easy to find a place,” he 
laid. 

“ Perhaps your Highness has a domain in 
Itiis neighbourhood where there is a small 
Cirftle.” 

“ Then he could come often to the city,” re- 
plied the Prince, gruffly. 

“ That does not matter,” continued Use, 
eagerly. “ He must first know thoroughly the 
work of the people, and for that be constantly 
iu the fields.” 

“ I could not find a better adviser,” said the 
Prince, iu excellent humour. “ There is nothing 


181 

in the neighbourhood that wdll answer ; I have 
thought of your father’s property.” 

Use started up wdth surprise. 

“ But our mode of life is not adapted for such 
a royal personage,” she replied, with reserve. 
“ No, gracious Sovereign, the domestic arrange- 
ments of our family would not be suitable to the 
pretensions of a young prince. I say nothing 
of other considerations which were formerly un- 
known to me, and which have first occurred to 
me here. Therefore, if I may speak what I feel, 
I am of opinion that this, for many reasons, will 
not answer.” 

“ It was only a thought,” replied the Prince, 
good-humouredly. “The aim may perhaps be 
attained wdthout encroaching upon your fiither. 
It has been my wdsh,” he continued, with 
chivalrous politeness, “ to give you and your 
father a public proof of my esteem. I have 
special reasons for it.” He looked significantly 
at Use, and she thought of the birthday of the 
Princess. 

“ I know why,” she said, softly. 

Tlie Prince drew his chair near. 

“ Yoia father has a large family ?” he asked. 
“ I have a vague recollection of having seen 
some rosy-cheeked boys.” 

“ They w'ere my brothers,” said Use, laughing ; 
they are fine youths, gracious Prince, if I, as 
a sister, may praise them ; they are at present 
somewhat uncouth, but good and clever. My 
Franz wrote to me only yesterday to beg me 
to greet your Highness from him. The little 
urchin thinks it is the right thing. Now, as I 
have the occasion, I will convey it to my dear, 
gracious Prince ; it is a stupid, childish greeting, 
but it comes from a good heart.” 

She felt in her pocket, and brought forth a 
letter w’ritten in fair characters. 

“See, your Highness, how well the child 
writes. But I must not show you the letter, 
for your Highness would find in it a confirma- 
tion of your opinion, that men have alw^ays 
egotistical wishes in the background when they 
think of their princes. The poor boy has also 
his wish.” 

“ Then let us have it,” said the Prince. 

Use showed him the letter; the Prince gra- 
ciously took hold of the letter, and in doing so 
of her hand. 

“ He is so barefaced as to ask your Highness 
for an india-rubber ball to blow out. The ball 
is already bought.” 

She jumped up and fetched a gigantic coloured 
ball. 

“ Tills I send to-day, and I shall write to him 
that it is not seemly to beg of so great a per- 
sonage. He is nine years old, but still very 
childish — your Highness must excuse him.” 

Enchanted by this frank open-heartedness, 
the Prince said : 

“ Write to him, at the same time, that I wish 
to tell him he must endeavour to preserve 
through the dangerous paths of life the pure 
feeling and loyal spirit of his eldest sister. I 
also feel how great is the blessing of your 
character to all who have the happiness of 
breathing your atmosphere. In a course of life 
which is filled with grating impressions, in which 
hatred and suspicion take more from the peace 
of the soul than houi-s of repose can restore to 


182 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


it, I have still retained my susceptibility for the 
innocent freshness of a mind like yours. I re* 
joice in reading your heart.^* 

Again he laid his hand gently on hers ; Use 
looked down confused at the praise of her dear 
Sovereign. 

A hasty step approached ; the Prince rose, and 
the Professor entered. He bowed to the Prince, 
and looked surprised at his w’ife. 

“You are not ill,” he exclaimed, joyfully. 
" Pai’don, gracious Prince, I came in great 
anxiety about my wife. A strange boy rung the 
bell at the Museum, and brought a message that 
I must go immediately to see my wife, as she 
was ill ; happily it was a mistake.” 

“ I am thankful for the error,” replied the 
Prince, as it gives me the opportunity of say- 
ing to yourself what I was intending to mention 
to Madame Werner ; orders have been given at 
the stable that a carriage shall be ready for you 
at any hour that you wish to take a journey in 
the neighbom-hood for your secret investiga- 
tions.” 

He took leave graciously. 

The Prince opened the windows of his study ; 
the air was sultry, the sun had been shining 
long upon the earth ; now it had vanished, heavy 
clouds rolled themselves, like great shapeless 
porpoises, over the city and castle. The Prince 
fetched a deep breath, but the heavy sultry air 
forced the smoke from the chimneys of the castle 
down to his window, enveloping his head like a 
great mist. He hastily opened the door of the 
gallery which led to the audience-rooms, and 
walked out. Against the walls hung a row of 
oil pictures, the portraits of beautiful ladies 
whom the Prince had once favoured wdth his 
attentions. His looks strayed from one to the 
other ; at the end of the row there w’as an empty 
place ; he stopped before it, and his fancy painted 
a picture with blonde hair, and a true-hearted, 
frank light in the eyes, more touching than any 
of the other faces. 

" So late,” he said, to himself. It is the last 
place and the strongest feeling. They are fools 
who tell us that years make us indifferent. If 
I had come across her at the other end,” he 
looked back along the gallery, “ at the begin- 
ning of my life, w'hen I yet looked longingly at 
the roses on the cheeks of maidens and was 
touched by the song of hedge-sparrows, such a 
woman would then have preserved in me w'hat I 
have for ever lost. Useless thoughts of the past. 
I must in the present keep firm hold of w’hat has 
come within reach of my hand. She is indiffe- 
rent about the weak youth, but she feels herself 
uneasy here, and if she tries to escape me I 
have no pow'er to keep her back. I remain 
alone; daily the same wearisome faces, whose 
thoughts one knows before they are spoken, 
whose wishes one knows before they open their 
mouths, and w^hom one sees to be prepared with 
feigned feelings. Whatever wit or will they 
have w’orks secretly against me ; what I 
receive from them is only tlie artificial glitter of 
life. It is sorrowful to be a master before whom 
living souls turn into machines, and year after 
year to open the lid and examine the works. I 
myself have made them,” he said, jeeringly, 

but I am weary of my work. 

“ With regard to these artificial clocks,” he 


murmured, “a doubt may arise w’hether my un- 
happy skill has made them lies of human nature, 
or whether 1 myself am an automaton, which 
when wound up nods and repeats the same 
gracious words without thought. I know there 
are hours when I am ashamed of myself, when 
I strut about the stage as a pantaloon or a bully ; 
I see the wires that move my joints ; I feel a 
desire to place my own head in the vice in order 
to improve what is faulty in it, and I see a large 
chest open into which I am thrown when my 
role is played out. 

“Oh,” he groaned, from the depths of his 
heart. “ I know that I am a reality, if not by 
day, yet at night. None of those about me are 
tormented in lonely hours as I am ; their tem- 
ples do not beat with fever heat when they lie 
douTi after their day’s work. 

“ What pleasure have I amidst these dull 
tapestry -rooms, or among the old pictures of 
Mother Nature ? Laughing without amusement, 
angry about trifies, — everything cold, indifferent, 
and soulless. 

“ It is only in rare moments, when I have 
been with her, that I feel like another mail ; 
then the warm blood courses through my veins. 
When in her honest simplicity she talks of all 
that she lo.es and takes pleasure in, a woman 
with a child’s heart, then I become young again 
like her. She talked to me of her brother 
‘ curly -head.’ I see the boy before me, a lively 
lad, with his sister’s eyes. I see the little 
simpleton eating his bread and butter, and it 
moves me as if I were reading a touching story. 
I long to catch up the boy in my arms as if he 
belonged to me. 

“ She herself is true and upright ; it is a pure 
mind, and beneath her calm gentleness strong 
passion lies concealed. How she fired up at my 
messenger when he took with him the patent ot 
nobility ! She is a woman to live with whom is 
M'orth some trouble, and to gain whom a man 
would do much. . 

“ But what can I do ? "Wliat I can give her 
will be of little value to her; what I take 
from her, how will she make rp her mind to 
it ?” He looked timidly at the empty place on 
the wall. Another picture was to have hung 
there,” he exclaimed ; “ why is it not there ? 
Why does the remembrance of one long gone 
lie on my brain like a stone, the pressure ot 
which I feel every day when mingling among 
men, and every night when I rest my weary 
head upon my hands ? That woman slept many 
years in the same room where now the stranger 
reposes ; she did not awake, as it would have 
been well for her to have done ; when she did 
awake and came to consciousness, a spring broke 
in her weak mind, and she remained a soulless 
body.” 

A feverish shudder passed through him ; he 
shook himself and rushed out of the gallery, 
looked shyly behind him, and closed the door. " 

“ The violence of passion is extinguished,” ho 
continued, after a time; “with yeare one be- 
comes more cautious. I will hold her fast, 
whatever may be the result ; it is no longer the 
burning glow of youth, it is the heart of a 
ripened man that I ofler to her. With firm 
patience will I await what time prepares for me; 
slowly will this fruit ripen in the warm sun. I 


TEASING TRICKS. 183 


will persevere, but I will hold her fast. Her 
husband is becoming thoughtful about her ; it 
was an awkward excuse that he invented; he 
also is struggling out of my hand. I must keep 
her, and^ only childish means can be used for 
these childlike hearts;’* 

The bell riing, the servant entered and received 
an order. 

Magister Knips stood before the Prince ; his 
cheeks \yere flushed, and vehement excitement 
worked in his features. 

“ Have you read the memorial which Professor 
Werner has written conc( ruing the manuscript ?” 
asked the Prince, carelessly. “What is your 
opinion of it ?” 

“ It is a ])rodigious, astonishing account. Most 
Serene Highness, Gracious Prince, and Sove- 
reign. I may well say that I feel this discovery 
in all my limbs. If the manuscript should be 
discovered the fame will be imperishable ; it 
would be renewed in the preface of every edition 
in which question of the manuscript occurred to 
the end of the world ; it would raise the learned 
man to whose lot this greatest earthly good for- 
tune should fall high above his fellow men. The 
exalted Prince also, according to Act 22, § 127, 
of the law of the country, would have un- 
doubtedly the first right to the discovered trea- 
sure, and his Highness would be hailed among 
all people as the protector of a new era of know- 
ledge concerning the Romans.” 

The Prince listened with satisfaction to the 
enthusiasm of the Magister, who in his excite- 
ment forgot his humble bearing, and patheti- 
cally stretched out his arm in the direction in 
T>’hich he saw the crown of rays hovering over 
the head of the Prince. 

“All this would occur if one found the 
treasure,” said the Prinee; “but it is not yet 
found.” 

Knips collapsed. 

“Undoubtedly it is presumptuous to think 
that such happiness could fall to the lot of any 
hmnan being, yet it would be a sin to doubt the 
possibility.” 

“ Professor Werner seems to attach much 
value to the discovery,” rejoined the Prince, in- 
difierently. 

“ He could not be a learned man of sterling 
judgment who did not feel the importance of 
this gain as much as docs your Highness’s most 
humble servant and slave.” 

The Prince interrupted the speaker. 

“ Herr Von Weidegg has proposed to you to 
remain in my service. Have you agreed to do 

BO ?” 

“ With the feeling of a rescued man,” ex- 
claimed Knips, “who ventures to lay at your 
Highness’s feet thanks and blessings with un- 
bounded veneration.” 

“ Have you already engaged yom-self ?” 

“In the most solemn way.” 

“ Good,” said the Prince, stopping by a mo- 
tion of his hand the stream of the Magister’s 
respectful assurances. “ It has been reported to 
me, Herr l\Iagistcr, that you have special good 
fortune in finding such rarities — good fortune,” 
repeated the Prince, “or, what comes to the 
same thing, skill. Do you seriously believe 
that these indistinct traces lead to the lost 
treasure ?” 


“Wlm can now maintain that such a dis- 
covery is impossible ?” cried the Magister. “ If 
I might bo allowed, with the deepest respect, to 
express my views, which burst forth from my 
heart like a cry of joy, it is, I dare not say pro- 
bable, but yet not improbable, that an accident 
might lead to it. Yet if I may venture to ex- 
press respectfully my experience, which perhaps 
is only a superstition, if the manuscript be 
found, it will not be found where one expects, 
but somewhere else. Whenever hitherto in my 
modest existence I have had the good fortune of 
making a discovery — I mention only the Italian 
Homer of 1488 — it has always been contrary to 
all anticipations ; and what your most exalted 
Grace calls my skill is — if I must explain the 
secret of my good fortune — really nothing but 
the circumstance that I have generally sought 
where, according to human probability, no trea- 
sure could be supposed to lie.” 

“ The views which you entertain are certainly 
comforting for an impatient person,” said the 
Prince, “ for that may last a long time.” 

“ Generations may vanish,” replied Knips, 
*‘but the present and the future will search 
until the manuscript be found.” 

“ That is but poor comfort,” said the Prince, 
laughing; “and I confess, Herr Magister, you 
disappoint by these words the lively expectation 
which I cherished that your dexterity and skill 
would soon obtain for me the pleasure of seeing 
the book in the hands of the Professor — the book 
itself, or at least some palpable proof of its 
existence. I am a layman i7i all these things, and 
can form no judgment of the importance which 
yoii attach to the discovery. To me at present 
it is only to play off a joke, or — to repeat the 
words which you lately used with respect to 
your miniatures — only for the sake of raillery.” 

The expression and manner of the Magister 
altered gradually, as if under the spell of an en- 
chanter ; he shrank into himself, laid his head 
on his shoulder, and looked with terrified eager- 
ness at the Prince. 

“ In short, I wish that Herr AVerner should 
soon be put upon a certain trace of the manu- 
script, if it is not possible to obtain the manu- 
script itself.” 

Knips remained silent, staring at the speaker. 

“I desire you,” continued the Prince, em- 
phatically, “ to employ the talent you have 
already shown for this object. Your help must, 
of course, remain my secret, for I should like 
Hen* Werner to have the pleasure of making the 
discovery himself.” 

“ It must be a large manuscript,” stammered 
out Knips. 

“ I fear,” replied the Prince, carelessly, “ it 
must long have been torn in pieces. It is not 
impossible that some scattered leaves may have 
been preserved somewhere.” 

The Magister stood thunderstruck. 

“ It is difficult to satisfy the Herr Professor.” 

“ So much the greater will be youi* merit and 
reward.” 

Knips remained silent in a state of collapse. 

“Has your confidence vanished, Herr Ma- 
gister ?” said the Prince, ironically. “ It is not 
the first time that you have succeeded in such a 
discoverv.^’ He approached closer to the little 
man. “ I know something of fonner trials of 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


Jg4 

your dexterity , and I have no doubt of the com- 
prehensiveness of your talent.” 

Knips recovered himself, but still he found no 
words. 

“For the rest, I am contented with your 
activity,” continued the Prince, in a changed 
voice. “ I do not doubt that you will in many 
ways know how to make yourself useful to the 
officials of my Court, aud Inereby consult your 
own future interest.” 

“ What high honoiir ! ” said Knips, pitifully, 
drawing out his pocket handkerchief. 

“ As regards the lost manuscript,” continued 
the Prince, “ the stay of Herr Werner will, I 
fear, be only temporary. The task of pursuing 
the investigations in our country will fall upon 
you.” 

Knips raised his head, and a ray of pleasure 
passed over his troubled face. 

“ If the manuscript is, in fact, as valuable as 
the learned gentlemen seem to think, then in 
case, after the departure of the Professor, there 
is still something to discover, you will have 
found with us an occupation which is especially 
suited to you.” 

“ This prospect is the highest and most honour- 
able which my life can attain to,” replied Knips, 
more courageously. 

“ Good,” said the Prince ; “ endeavour to 
deserve this claim, and try first what your dex- 
terity can do.” 

“ I will take pains to serve your Highness,” 
replied the Magister, his eyes cast on the 
ground. 

Knips left the private apartment. The little 
man, who now descended the staircase, looked 
very different from the happy Magister who a 
few minutes before had ascended it. His pale 
face was bent forward, and his eyes wandered 
furtively over the faces of the servants, w’ho 
watched him inquisitively. He seized his hat 
mechanically, and he, the Magister, put it on 
his head while still in the royal castle. He went 
out into the place ; the storm swept through the 
streets, whirled the dust round him, and blew 
his coat-tails forward. 

“He drives me on; how can I withstand 
him ?” murmured Knips. “ Shall I return to 
my proof-sheets in that cold room ? Shall I all 
my life depend on the favour of professors, and 
bow down to the proud simpletons, always in 
anxiety lest an accident should betray to these 
learned men that I once overreached them and 
derided them ? 

“ But here I pass a pleasant life, and have 
opportunities of being the cleverest among the 
ignorant and making myself necessary to them. 
I am so already ; the Prince has shown himself 
to me as one comrade does to another, and he 
can, if I do as he wishes, as little part from me 
as the parchment from the witing on it.” 

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow. 

“ I myself will find the manuscript,” he con- 
tinued, more confidently. “ Jacobi Knipsii 
sollertia inventum. I know the great secret, 
and I will search day by day where only a V'ood- 
louse can creep or a spider hang its web. Then 
it will be for me to decide whether I take the 
Professor as an assistant to edit it, or another. 
Perhaps I will take him, and he will be thankful 
to me. He u ill hardly find the treasure, he is 


too dignified to listen and to spy out where the 
chests are concealed.” 

The Magister hastened his steps; the wind 
whistled ‘in sharp tones behind him, — it tore 
from the trees the dry leaves of the last year, 
and scattered them on the hat of the little man. 
The dust whirled more rapidly round him ; it 
covered the dark Court dress with a pale grey 
coating, it pursued and enveloped them, so 
that the foliage of the trees and men’s figures 
disappeared, and he hastened on into a cloud 
covered with earthly dust aud dead leaves. But 
he raised again his pocket-handkerchief, sighed, 
and wiped the sweat from his temples. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

There was a lowering sultriness in nature, and 
also in the world of busy men. The barometer 
fell suddenly ; thunder and hail coursed over the 
country; confidence was gone, shares became 
worthless paper ; lamentation followed arro- 
gance ; water stood in the streets ; and the 
straw hats disappeared as if wafted away by the 
storm. 

Whoever in these changing times should wish 
to observe Herr Hummel in a good-humoured 
frame of mind must do so in the afternoon 
before three o’clock, when he opened his garden- 
door, and placed himself by the hedge. During 
this hour he gave audience to benevolent 
thoughts; he listened to the striking of the 
city clock, and regulated his own ; he read the 
daily paper, counted the regular promeuaders, 
who daily walked at the same hour to the wood 
and back again to the city, and he accosted his 
acquaintances and received their greetings. 
These acquaintances were for the most part 
householders hard-headed men, members of the 
city commissions, and councillors. 

He was sitting this day at the open door, 
looking proudly at the opposite house, in which 
some secret commotion was pei’ceptible ; he 
examined the passers-by, accosted the citizens 
shortly, and received their greetings with dignity. 
The first aequaintauce was Herr Wenzel, a ren- 
tier, and his gossip, who for many years had 
taken a constitutional every day, summer and 
winter, through the meadows. It was the one 
steady business of his life, and he talked of little 
else. 

“ Good day, Hummel.” 

“ Good day, Wenzel. Has your walk done 
you good ?” asked Herr Hummel. 

“ Pretty well,” said the rentier, “ but I must 
not stand. I only wanted to ask you how 
things are going with him over the way ?” 

“ Why that ?” asked Hummel, crossly. 

“ Do you not know that his book-keeper has 
disappeared ?” 

“ Why not ?” exclaimed Herr Hummel. 

“ They say he has speculated on the stock 
exchange, and made off’ to America. But I must 
be off ; good day.” 

The rentier went hastily away. 

Herr Hummel remained in a state of great 
astonishment. He heard the voice of the city 
councillor calling out ; 

“ Good day, Herr Hummel — a warm day— ^ 


HUMMEL’S TRIUMPH. 


1S5 


18 degrees in the shade. Have you heard ?” he 
laid, pointing u ith his stick to the neighbouring 
house. 

“ Nothing,” cried Hummel ; “ one lives in 
this place as if in a prison. Whether it is fire, 
pestilence, or the arrival of high personages, it 
is only by pure accident one hears of it. W^hat 
is the case with the runaw'ay book-keeper 

“ It appears that your neighbour placed too 
much confidence in the man, and he has secretly 
used the name of his principal in some mad 
speculations, and has fled last night. They say 
it is to the amount of forty thousand.” 

“ Then Hahn is ruined,” said Hummel, “ irre- 
deemably. I am not surprised at it ; this man 
has always been fantastical.” 

“Perhaps things are not so bad,” said the 
councillor, as he left him. 

Herr Hummel remained alone with his 
thoughts. “ Naturally,” he said to himself, 
“ it was inevitable. In everything high-flown — 
houses, windows, and garden toys — never any 
rest ; the man is gone out like a candle.” 

He forgot the passers-by, and moved back- 
wards and forwards in his longest walk, looking 
sometimes with curiosity at the hostile walls. 
“ Out like a caudle,” he repeated, with the satis- 
faction of a tragic actor who endeavours to give 
the most terrific expression to the telling words 
of his role. He had vexed himself half a century 
about that man ; before his disposition to coi'pu- 
lency had begun he had hated this man’s ways 
and business. This feeling had been his daily 
entertainment ; it was one of his daily neces- 
sities, like his boot-jack and his green boat. 
Now the hour was come when fate paid off the 
. man over the way for having injured Herr Hum- 
mel by his presence there. Hummel looked at 
the house and shrugged his shoulders ; the man 
who had placed that deformed thing before his 
eyes was now in danger of being driven away 
from it. He looked at the temple and the muse; 
this toy of the poor devil would soon be torn 
down by some stranger. Hummel entered his 
sitting-room; there also he walked up and down, 
and told his wife the misfortune in short sen- 
tences. He observed, out of the corners of his 
eyes, that Frau Philippine hastened, horrified, to 
the sofa, and frequently clasped her hands ; and 
that Laura rushed into the next room, and could 
not refrain from a burst of tears ; and he re- 
peated, with dreadful satisfaction, the terrible 
words ; “ He has gone out like a candle.” 

He behaved in the same way in his factory ; 
be paced up and down the warehouse, looked 
majestically on a heap of h.areskins, took one of 
the finest hats out of a bandbox, held it towards 
the window, gave it a stroke with the brush, 
and grumbled out again : “ He has come to an 
end.” His book-keeper came this day, for the 
first time in his life, late to the desk : he had 
heard of the misfortune on his road ; he related 
it in an excited way to his principal, and finally 
repeated maliciously the unfortunate words ; 

^ There is an end of him.” Hummel gave him 
a piercing look, and snorted so that the timid 
heart of the clerk sank within him. 

“ Do you wish also to become a procurist like 
that runaway ? I thank you for this proof of 
your confidence. I do not want such bandit 
doings; I am my own procurist, sir, and I object 


to every kind of secret dealing behind my 
back.” 

“ But, Herr Hummel, I have carried on no 
secret dealings.” 

The devil thank you for that,” roared out 
Hummel, in his fiercest bass. “ There is no 
more confidence on earth : nothing is firm ; the 
holiest relations are unscrupulously ruined; one 
can no longer trust one’s friends ; now even one’s 
enemies make ofi'. At night you lie down to 
sleep quietly as a German, and in the morning 
you wake up as a Frenchman ; and if you sigh 
for your German coffee, your hostess brings a 
dish of Parisian spinach to your bed. I should 
be glad to learn from you on what spot of this 
earth we are now settled.” 

“ In the Valley Row, Herr Hummel.” 

“ There the last remains of your good genius 
spoke out. Look through the window. tiVliat 
stands there ?” pointing to the neighboming 
house. 

“ The Park Street, Herr Hummel.” • 

“ Indeed ?” asked Hummel, ironically. “ Since 
the earliest times, when your forefathers sat on 
the trees here nibbling beechmast, this place has 
been called the Valley Row. In this valley I 
laid the foundations of my house, and enclosed 
in the wall a label for later excavators : ‘ Hen- 
rich Hummel, No. 1.* Now the machinations 
of yonder extinguished straw-man have upset 
this truth. In spite of my pi*otest at the 
council, we have been inscribed in the police 
arrangements as park tradesmen. Scarcely has 
this happened, when that man’s book-keeper 
transforms himself into an American. Do you 
believe that Knips, junior, this salamander, 
would have ventured on this misdeed if his own 
principal had not set him a good example ? 
There you have the consequences of miserable 
novelties. For twenty years we have gone on 
together, but I believe now you are capable of 
throwing up your place and entering into 
another business. Pooh, sir ! you ought to be 
ashamed of your century.” 

It was a sorrowful day for the Hahn family. 
The master of the house had gone at his usual 
hour in the morning to his counter in the city, 
and had in vain awaited his book-keeper. When 
at last he sent to the young man’s dwelling, the 
porter brought back word that the former had 
departed, and left a letter on his table for Herr 
Hahn. Hahn read the letter, and sank down 
upon his desk in sudden terror. He had always 
carried on his business like an honest tradesman. 
He had begun with small means, and had be- 
come a wealthy man by his own energy ; but he 
had confided Ids money concerns more to his 
clever clerk than was prudent. The man had 
grown up under his eyes, and had gradually, by 
his pliant, zealous service, won full confidence, 
and had shortly before been granted the right of 
signing the name of the firm to business engage- 
ments. The new procurist had been exposed 
to the temptation of venturing in an excited 
time upon rash speculations unknown to his 
principal. In the letter he made open confes- 
sion. He had stolen a small sum for his flight : 
but Herr Hahn would have on the following day 
to meet his losses to the amount of about twenty 
thousand thalers. The lightning stroke fell from 
a clear heaven into the peaceful life of the 


ISG 


THE LOST MAOTSCRIPT. 


citizen. Herr H^nn sent for his son. The 
Doctor hastened to the police-office, to liis solici- 
tor, and to his business friends, and returned 
again to the counter to comfort his father, who 
sat as if paralysed before his desk, looking at 
the future hopelessly. 

The dinner-time came, when Herr Hahn must 
impart his misfoi*tune to his wife, and there was 
lamentation within the house. Frau Hahn went 
distractedly through the rooms, and Dorothy 
wrung her hands and cried. In the afternoon 
the Doctor again hastened to his acquaintances 
and to money-lenders ; but during this week 
there was a general panic, every one mistrusted 
the other. Money was scarce, and the Doctor 
found nothing but compassion, and complaints 
of the fearful times. The flight of the book- 
keeper made even confidential friends suspicious 
as to the extent of the obligations of the firm. 
Even by a mortgage on the house with the 
greatest sacrifice no sufficient sum could be 
obtained. The danger was more threatening 
every hour, the anguish greater. Towards even- 
ing the Doctor returned home to his parents 
Irom his last fruitless expedition. To his father 
he had shown a cheerful countenance, and com- 
forted him bravely ; but the thought was inces- 
santly present in his head, that this misfortune 
Mould divide him utterly from his loved one. 
Kom’ he sat u eary and alone in the dark sitting- 
room, and looked toM’ards the lighted windows 
of the ncighboiTi ing house. 

He kncM’ Mell that one friend would not fail 
his father in this distress. Hut the Professor 
Mas at a distance, and any help he could give 
M’ould be insufficient. There Mere only a few 
hours before the decisive moment arrived. The 
intervening time, one of rest for all others, M as 
one of endless torture to b s father, in M'hich he 
contemplated, M'ith starting eyes and feverish 
pulse, a hundred-fold the bitterness of the 
ensuing day, and the son M'as terrified at the 
efl'ect which the fearful excitement would have 
on his sensitive father. 

There M as a slight rustle in the dark room — a 
bright figure stood beside the Doctor. Laura 
seized his hand and held it fast M’ithiu hers. 
tShe bent down to him, and looked in his sorroM’- 
ful countenance. “ 1 have felt the anxieties of 
this hour. 1 can no longer bear solitude,” she 
said, gently. “ Is there no help ?” 

“ I fear none.” 

She touched his hand M ith her curls. 

“ You have chosen it as your lot to despise 
M'hat others so anxiously desire. The light of 
the sun, M-hich illumines your head, should 
never be darkened by earthly cares. Be proud, 
Fritz; you have never cause to be more so than 
at this hour, for you can never feel such a mis- 
fortune M’orth a lamentation.” 

“ My poor father ! ” cried Fritz. 

“Yet your father is happy,” continued Laura, 

“ for he has brought up a son to M hom it is 
scarcely a sacrifice to be deprived of M’hat 
appears to other men the highest happiness. 
For M’hom had your dear parents amassed money 
but for y'ou ? Now you may show them how 
free and great you rise above these anxieties for 
perishable money.” 

“ If I feel this misfortune for my OM'n life,” said 
the Doctor, “ it is only for the sake of another.” 


“If it is a comfort to you, my friend,” ex- 
claimed Laura, M’ith an outburst of feeling, “ I 
Mill tell you to-day that I hold true to you, 
whatever may happen.” 

“ Dear Laura ! ” cried the Doctor. 

But she sang softly in his ear, like a bird ; 

“ I am glad, Fritz, that you care for me.” 

Fritz laid his cheek tenderly on her hand. 

“ 1 will endeavour not to be unu orthy of you,” 
continued Laura. “ I have long tried in secret 
all that I, a poor maiden, can to free myself 
from the small trifles that trouble our life. I 
have considered fully hoM' one can keep house 
M’ith very little, and I no longer spend money 
on useless dress and such rubbish. I am anxious 
also to earn something. I give lessons, Fritz, 
and they are satisfied m ith me. Man requires 
little to live upon, 1 have found that out. I 
have no greater pleasure in my room than the 
thought of making myself independent. That 
is M’hat I have M'ished to express briefly to you 
to-day. One more thing, Fritz ; if I do not see 
you, I alM’ays think of and care about you.” 

Fritz stretched out his arms toM-ards her, but 
she M’ithdreM’ herself from liim, nodded to him 
once more at the door, then flew across the street 
back to her private room. 

There she stood in the dark M’ith beating 
heart; a pale ray of light gleamed through the 
M’indoM' and lighted up the shepherd pair on the 
inkstand, so tliat they seemed to hover illu- 
minated in the air. This day Laura did not 
think of her secret diary, she looked toMards 
the M’indow M’here her loved one sat, and again 
tears gushed from her eyes ; but she composed 
herself M’ith quick decision, fetched a light and 
a jug of M ater from the kitchen, collected toge- 
ther her lace collars and cufls and soaked them 
in a basin — she could get up this trash herself. 
It M as again a little saving, it might some time 
be of use to Fritz. 

Herr Hummel closed his counter and con- 
tinued to rove about. The door of Laura's 
room opened, the daughter shrank M’ithin her- 
self M’hen she sum’ her father cross the threshold 
solemnly, like a messenger of Fate. Hummel 
moved toM ards his daughter and looked sharply 
at her M eeping eyes. 

“ So this is on account of him over the M’ay ?” 
Laura hid her face in her hands, again her 
sorroM' overpoM’ered her. 

“ There you have your little bells,” he grum- 
bled in a low tone. “ There you have your 
pocket-handkerchiefs and your Indians. It is 
all over m ith the people there.” He slapped her 
on the shoulder M’ith his great hand. “ Be quiet. 
We have not put an end to him ; your pocket- 
handkerchiefs prove nothing.” 

It became dark ; Hummel M alked up and 
doM n the street betM een the two houses, looking 
at the hostile house from the park side, M'here it 
M’as less accessible to him, and his broad face 
assumed a triumphant smile. At last he dis- 
covered an acquaintance M ho M as hastening out 
of it, and folloM’ed Iutii. 

“ What is the state of the case ?” he asked, 
laying hold of the arm of the other. “ Can he 
hold on ?” 

The friendly man of busines shrugged his 
shoulders. 

“ It cannot remain a secret,” he said, and 


187 


HUMMEL’S 

explained the situation and danger of the adver- 
sary. 

“ Will he be able to procure money to meet it ?” 

The other again shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Hardly to-morrow. Money is not now to he 
got amongst brothers. The man is of course 
worth more ; the business is good, and the house 
unencumbered.” 

“ The house is not worth twenty thousand,” 
interposed Hummel. 

“iSo matter; in a sound stale of the money 
market he would bear the blow without danger, 
now I fear the worst.” 

“ I have said it, he is gone out like a candle,” 
muttered Hummel, turning himself short round 
towards his house. 

In the Doctor’s room father and son were 
sitting ov’er letters and accounts, the light of 
the lamp shone on the gilded titles of the books 
against the wall, and the portfolios containing 
the treasures industriously collected by the 
Doctor from all corners of the world, and bound 
up and placed here in grand aiTay — now they 
were again to be dispersed. The son was 
endeavouring to inspire his despairing father 
with courage. 

“ If the misfortune cannot be prevented which 
has come upon us like a hurricane, we must bear it 
like men ; you can save your honour. The great- 
est sorrow that I feel is tliat 1 can now be of so 
little use to you, and that the advice of every 
man of business is of more value than the help 
of your own son.” 

The fatker laid his head on the table, power- 
less and stupi'fied. 

The door opened, and a strange figure entered 
with heavy stops from the dark ante-room into 
the room. The Doctor sprang up and stared at 
the hard features of a well-known face. Herr 
Hahn uttered an exclamation, rose up hastily 
from the soft to leave the room. 

“ Herr Hummel,” cried the Doctor, alarmed. 

Natui-ally,” replied Hummel ; “ it is I, who 
else should it be ?” He laid a packet on the 
table. “ Here are twenty thousand thalers in 
sterling City Bonds, and here is a receipt for 
you both to sign. To-morrow you shall give a 
mortgage for it upon your house : the papers 
must naturally be repaid, for I do not mean to 
lose by it, exchange is now too bad. The mort- 
gage shall remain dormant for ten years, in 
order that you may not think I wish to take 
your house ; you can pay back when you please, 
the whole at once, or by degrees. I know your 
business, no money can now be obtained upon 
your straw ; but in ten years the loss may be 
recovered. I make only one condition, that no 
human being shall know of this loan, least of all 
your wife and my wife and daughter. For this 
I have good reasons. Do not look at me as a 
cat looks at an emperor,” he continued, turning 
to the Doctor. “ Set to work, count the papers 
and numbers. Make no speeches, I am not a 
man of feeling, and flowers of speech are no use 
to me. I think also of my security. The 
house is scarcely worth twenty thousand thalers, 
but it satisfies me. If you should wish to carry 
it ofi’ I should see it. You have taken care that 
it should be near enough to my eyes. Now 
count and sign, Herr Doctor,” he said, authorita- 
tively, pushing him down on his chair. 


TRIUMPH. 

“ Herr Hummel,” began Hahn, somewhat 
indistinctly, for it was difficult for him to speak 
in his emotion, “ I shall never forget this hour 
to the end of my life.” He,wished to go up to 
him and give him his hand, and the tears 
streamed from his eyes and he was obliged to 
take his pocket-handkerchief. 

“ Be seated,” said Hummel, pushing him 
down on the sofa ; “ steadiness and stoicism arc 
always the main thing, they are better than 
Chinese toys. I shall say nothing further to- 
day, and you must say nothing to me of this 
occurrence. To-mon'ow everything will be made 
smooth before the notary and the court, and 
interest must be paid punctually quarterly ; for 
the rest it remains with us as of old. For, you 
see, we are not merely men, we are also business 
people. As a man, I know well what are your 
good points, even when you complain of me. 
But our houses and our businesses do not agree. 
We have been twenty years opponents, felt 
against straw, with our fancies and our trellis- 
work fence. That may remain so. I do not 
like your house, nor you my dog, although I 
now believe that it was that rascal of a book- 
keeper who did the deed without your know- 
ledge ; it is the same story as in exchange 
business — secret poison and false signing. What 
is not harmonious need not harmonise. When 
you call me bristly and a coarse felt, I will be 
coarse to you, and I will consider you as a straw 
blockhead as often as I am angry with you. But 
with all that, we may have, as now, private 
business together; and if ever, which 1 hope 
will not be, robbers should plunder me, you will 
do for me as far as you can. This I know and 
have always known, and therefore I am come to- 
day.” 

Hahn gave him a look of warm gratitude, and 
again raised his pocket-handkerchief. 

Hummel laid his hands heavily upon his head, 
as with a little child, and said, gently, “ You are 
fantastical. Halm. The Doctor is ready now, 
sign, and do not either of you take this mis- 
fortune too much to heart. There,” he con- 
tinued, strewing sand over the paper carefully, 
“ to-morrow, about nine o’clock, I will send my 
solicitor to your counter. Stay where you are ; 
the staircase is badly lighted, but I shall find 
my way. Good night.” 

He entered the street, and looked contemp- 
tuously at the hostile walls. “ No mortgage !” 
he grumbled out. “ H. Hummel, first and last, 
twenty thousand.” At home he vouchsafed some 
comforting words to his ladies. “ I have heard 
that the people there will be able to pull through, 
so I forbid all future sighs. If ever, in confor- 
mity with miserable fashion, you should need a 
straw hat, you may take your money rather to 
the Hahns than to others ; I give my permis- 
sion.” 

Some days after Fritz Hahn entered the small 
counter of Herr Hummel. The latter signed to 
his book-keeper to leave, and began, coolly, from 
his arm-chair, “ What do you bring me, Herr 
Doctor ?” 

“ My father feels it a duty to meet the great 
confidence that you have shown him by giving 
you an insight into the state of his business, and 
bogs you to assist him in his arrangements. He 
is of opinion, till this disastrous affair has passed 


I 


L8S 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


over, he should do nothing important without 
your assent.” 

Hummel laughed. “Am I to give advice 
about your business ? You would put me in a 
position wh'.ch is *quite unnatural, and one 
against which I protest.” 

The Doctor silently placed before him the sum- 
mary of assets and debts. 

“ You are a sharp customer,” cried Hummel, 
“but for an old fox this trap is not cunning 
enough.” With that he looked at the credit 
and debit, and took a pencil in his hand. “ Here 
I find among the assets five hundred thalers for 
books which are to be sold. I did not know that 
your father had this hobby also.” 

“ They are my books, Herr Hummel. I have 
of late years spent more money for these than 
was absolutely necessary for my work. I am 
determined to sell what I can do without ; an 
antiquary has already offered to pay this sum in 
two instalments.” 

“ No creditor ought to distrain on materials 
for work,” said Hummel, making a stroke 
through that entry in the ledger. “ I believe, 
indeed, that they are unreiidable stuff, but the 
world has many dark corners ; and as you have 
a fancy to be a screech-owl among your fellows, 
you shall remain in your hole.^’ He regarded 
the Doctor with an ironical twinkle in his eye. 
“ Have you nothing futher to say ? I do not 
mean upon your father’s business, I have nothing 
further to do with that, but upon another 
business, which you yourself seem to carry on, in 
which you wish to associate yourself with my 
daughter Laura ?” 

The Doctor coloured. “ I should have chosen 
another day for the explanation which you now 
demand of me. But it is my anxious wish to 
come to an understainding with you concerning 
it. I have long entertained a quiet hope that a 
time would arrive when your disinclination to 
me would diminish.” 

“ What time ?” interrupted Hummel ; “ that 
appears to me laughable.” 

“Now by the kind-hearted help which you 
have afforded to my father, I am placed in a po- 
sition towards you which is so painful to me 
that I must beg of you not to refuse me your 
sympathy. I might, by strenuous exertion and 
fortunate circumstances, be in some years in the 
position to maintain a wife.” 

“ Starving trade,” interposed Herr Hummel, 
in a grumbling tone. 

“ I love your daughter, and I cannot sacrifice 
this feeling. But I have lost the prospect of 
offering her a future which could in some mea- 
sure answer to what she is entitled to expect ; 
and the helping hand which you have extended 
to my father makes me so dependent on you 
that I must avoid what would excite your dis- 
pleasure. Therefore I see before me a desolate 
future.” 

“ Just as I expected,” replied Herr Hummel, 
“faint-hearted.” 

The Doctor drew back, but at the same time 
he laid his hand on his neighbour’s arm. “ This 
language will serve you no longer, Herr Hum- 
mel,” said he, laughing. 

“Noble, but faint-hearted,” repeated Hum- 
mel, with satisfaction. “You should be ashamed, 
sir ; do you pretend to be a lover ? Y'ou wish to 


know howto please my daughter Laura, and yet 
you are a weak-hearted hare, always springing 
aside. Will you regulate your feelings according 
to my mortgage ? If you are in love, I expect 
that you should conduct yourself like a rampant 
lion, ‘jealous and fierce. Pooh, sir ! you appear 
to me like a beautiful Adonis, or like him who 
was called Nicodemus.” 

“Herr Hummel, I beg for your daughter’s 
hand,” cried the Doctor. 

“ I refuse it you,” cried Hummel. “ You mis- 
take my words. I do not think of throwing my 
daughter into this mess. But you must not mis- 
understand my refusal to give you my daughter : 
your cursed debt must be like the storm that 
has passed away. You must attack me, and force 
yourself into my house; in return for which I 
reserve to myself the right to show you the way 
out. But I have always said it, you are wanting 
in courage.” 

“Herr Hummel,” replied the Doctor, with 
dignity, “ allow me to remark that you should 
no longer be on the offensive with me.” 

“ Why not ?” asked Hummel. 

The Doctor pointed to the papers. 

“ What has happened in this matter makes it 
difficult for me to use strong language to you. 
It can be no pleasure to you to attack one who 
cannot defend himself.” 

“ These pretensions are only laughable,” re- 
plied Hummel. “ Because I have given you my 
money must I cease to treat you as you deserve ? 
Because you, perhaps, were not disinclined to 
marry my daughter, am I to stroke you with a 
velvet brush ? Did one ever hear such non- 
sense ?” 

“ You mistake,” continued the Doctor, civilly, 
“ if you think that I am not in a position to 
answer what you say. I do myself, therefore, 
the honour of remarking to you that your 
mocking humour is so wounding that even the 
kindness you have shown loses its value.” 

“ Have done with your kindness — it was only 
kindness from revenge.” 

Then I will as honestly tell you,” continued 
the Doctor, “ that it was a very bitter hour to 
me when you entered my room. I knew how 
oppressive the obligation which you then con- 
ferred upon us would be for the rest of my life. 
But I looked at my poor father, and the thought 
of his misery closed my mouth. For my own 
part, I would rather have begged my bread than 
taken your money.” 

“ Go on,” cried Hummel. 

“ What you have done for my father does not 
give you a right to ill-treat me. This conversa- 
tion strengthens me in the conviction which I 
have had from the first moment, that we must 
exert ourselves to the utmost to repay you the 
money we have received as soon as possible. 
You have crossed out the item of my books, but 
I shall sell them.” 

“ Folly ?” exclaimed Hummel. 

“ I shall do it, however insignificant the sum 
may be in comparison with our debt, because 
the tyranny which you wish to exercise over me 
threatens to become insupportable. I at least 
will not be indebted to you in this way.” 

“ Yet you wish it in another way which suits 
you better.” 

“ Yes,” replied the Doctor. As you have so 


A CHAPTER PROM TACITUS. 


coiit^inptxiotisly rejected the gi’eatest sacrifice I 
could make, 1 shall proceed to woo your daugh- 
ter against your will. I shall endeavour to 
speak to her whenever I can, and to make my- 
self as acceptable to her as is possible in my 
position. You have yourself pointed out to me 
this way. You will therefore be satisfied if I 
enter upon it, and if you are not I shall pay no 
regard to your displeasure.” 

“ At last,^’ cried Hummel, ** it all comes to 
light. I see now that you have got some fire in 
you; therefore we wiU. talk quietly over this 
business. You are not the husband whom I 
could have wished for my daughter. I have 
kept you away from my house, but it has been 
of no use, for a cursed feeling has ai’isen; tliere- 
fore I intend now to carry on the affair ditfer- 
sntly. I shall not object to your coming to my 
house sometimes. I depend upon your doing it 
with discretion. I will ignore your presence, 
and my daughter shall have an opportunity of 
comparing you with her home. We will both 
%wait the result.” 

“ I do not agree to this proposal,” replied the 
Doctor. “ I do not expect that you should give 
me your daughter’s hand now, and I only accept 
the entrance into your family on the condition 
that you yourself will treat me as becomes a 
guest in your house, and that you will perform 
the duties of a friendly host. I cannot suffer 
that you should speak to me in the way you 
Lave done in our tete-£l-tete to-day. Any insult, 
either by words or by neglect, I will not bear 
from you. I am not only desirous to please 
your daughter, but also to be agreeable to your- 
self. For that I demand opportunity. If you 
do not agree to this condition, I prefer not 
coming.” 

“ Humboldt, do not undertake too much at 
once,” replied Herr Hummel, shaking his head, 
“ for you see I esteem you, but I cannot really 
suffer you. Therefore I will consider how far I 
can make myself pleasant to you ; I assure you 
it will be hard work. Meanwhile, take these 
papers with you. Your father has bought the 
lesson that he should himself take care of his 
own money concerns. For the rest, the affair is 
not in a bad state, and he will be able to help 
himself out of it ; you do not need either me or 
another. Good morning, Herr Doctor.” 

Tlie Doctor took the papers under his arm. 

I beg you to shake hands, Herr Hummel.” 

“ Not so hastily,” replied Hummel. 

“ I am sorry for it,” said the Doctor, smiling, 
“ but I cannot be denied to-day.” 

“ Only from innate politeness,” rejoined 
Hummel, not from good will.” 

He held out to him his large hand. 

“ Keep your books,” he cried out, to the de- 
parting visitor. “I know what a hobby is; 
you V ill get that trash again, and I shall in the 
end have to give my money for it.” 


CHAPTER XXXIl. 

Tobias RAcnnuBEE ! wlieu your sponsors 
determined that you should be called Tobias 
they did bad service to you and your descendants. 
For he who bears this name is compelled by fate 


] Sb 

to experience what docs not fall to the lot of 
more favourably named men. Who has evei 
gone through so miserable a bridle journey us 
Tobias the younger, the poor son of the blind 
man ? For was he not obliged to fast, and to 
s.ruggle with a murderous spirit just at a time 
when a spiritual struggle would be highly dis- 
agreeable to any mortal ? Even you, blessed 
Bachhuber, have bitterly experienced the mis- 
fortune of your name. Whether the whole 
bloody Swedish war may have arisen because 
the Swedes had a desire for your manuscript, 
will not here be discussed ; one may trust that 
new historical investigations may yet bring to 
light this secret motive of action. But it is 
undeniable that yourself suffered lamentably in 
the war, and the curse of your name still clings 
to the treasure which you concealed. - All who 
have had to do with it have their eyes blinded, 
and a bad spirit destroys their hopes. 

The Professor also was tormented with this 
blindness, and troubled by the demon. He had 
found nothing. Many would have been weary 
and given it up, but his eagerness only increased, 
for he did not search by any means heedlessly; 
he knew very well that the discovery depended 
on a long chain of accidents which were out of 
all calculation. But he wished to do all in his 
power ; his task was to give assurance to the 
learned of the world that the archives, collec- 
tions, and inventories of the Prince had been 
thoroughly examined. This certainty at least he 
could obtain better than any one else, and he 
would thus do his duty both to the Prince and 
to learning. But his impatience became more 
eager, and the cheerful excitement he felt at 
first increased to uncomfortable agitation ; long 
expectation always disappoijited disturbed his 
daily frame of mind. He often sat lost in 
thought, nay, he was always speaking of the 
treasure, and Use could not please him ; her re- 
proaches and even her consolation wounded him, 
for he was very much vexed that she did not 
partake in his zeal. He knew accurately what 
would be the appearance of the manuscript — a 
large, thick quarto, very old characters, perhaps 
of the sixth century, much faded, and many 
leaves half destroyed, for he could not conceal 
from himself that the mischievous spirit of the 
times, water and the rats, might have made havoc 
with it. 

One day the Professor entered the Princess’s 
study with heightened colour. 

“ At last I can bring you a good report. In 
a small bundle of deeds in the Marshal’s office, 
which had hitherto unaccountably escaped me, 
I have found a lost entry on a single sheet. ^ The 
chests which the official at Bielstein sent in the 
beginning of the last century to the vanished 
castle are shortly designated as numbers one 
and two, with a remark that they contained 
besides old cross-bows, arrows, &c., manuscripts 
of the monastery of Rossau. There were thus 
two chests with manuscripts of the monastery 
in them.” 

The Princess looked with curiosity at the 
sheet which he laid before her. 

“ It was high time that this account should 
come to light,” continued the Professor, gaily ; 
“ for I confess to your Highness that the 
phantom pursued me day and night. This i# 


190 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


a valuable confirmation that I am on the right 
path.’* 

“ Yes,” cried the Princess, I am convinced 
■Nve shall find the treasure. If I could but help 
you a little. If it could be obtained by magic, 

1 would gladly put on my magic girdle and cull 
upon Frau Hecate. Unfortunately this mode 
of calling spirits to one’s aid is out of date, and 
the secret art by which learned gentlemen raise 
their treasures is difficult to learn.” 

“ I also am now little better than an unfor- 
tunate exorcist,” answered the Professor. “ It 
would be a bad recommendation for me if your 
Highness were to Judge of my work by what I 
have achieved here in stirring up the old dust. 
One is delighted and disappointed like a child. 
It is fortunate that fate does not often tease us 
book-writers with such tricks ; what we do for 
the benefit of others does not depend upon acci- 
dental discoveries.” 

“ I can form an idea of the seriousness of the 
work which I do not see,” exclaimed the Prin- 
cess. “ Your kindness has at least opened to 
me a small hole in the window by which I can 
look into the workshop of creative minds. I 
can understand that the labour of learned men 
must have an irresistible attraction for those 
who belong to your quiet society. I envy the 
ladies u hose happiness it is to live their whole 
life w itliin the sphere of such occupations.” 

“ We are bold conquerors at the writing- 
table,” answered the Professor; “but the incon- 
gruity between our inu ard freedom and outward 
helplessness is often felt by the conqueror and 
those about him. They who really pass their 
lives witl) us may easily fathom us, and can with 
difficulty bear our oiie-sidedness. For, your 
Highness, learned men are themselves like the 
books they write. In general we are badly pre- 
pared for the whirl of business, and sometimes 
helpless in the manifold activity of our time. 
We are true fi’iends to men in those hours in 
which they seek new strength for the struggle of 
life, but in the struggle itself we are generally 
unskiliul assistants.” 

“Are you thinking of yourself in speaking 
thus ?” asked the Princess, quickly. 

“ I have formed in my mind a picture from 
the combined traits of many of my fellow 
workers, but if your Highness inquires about 
myself, I also am in these respects a regular man 
of learning. For I have often had opportunity 
of remarking how imperfect is my judgment on 
all questions in which my learning or my moral 
feelings do not give me assurance.” 

“ 1 do not like that, Herr Werner,” cried the 
Princess, leaning gravely back in her arm-chair. 
“ My fancy was in its highest flight ; I sat as 
goveiuor of the world, prepared to make my 
people happy, and I made you my minister.” 

“ Your confidence gives me pleasure,” replied 
the Professor ; “ but if your Highness should 
ever be in the position to seek for an assistant in 
government, I could only accei)t this dignity 
with a good conscience if your Highness’s sub- 
jects were all passed through the bookbinder’s 
press, and wore little coats of pasteboard, and 
had on their backs labels that signified the con- 
tents of each.” 

The Ihiucess laughed, but her eyes rested 
with deep feeling on the honest countenance 


of the man. She sprung up and approached 
him. 

“ You are always true, open, and high- 
minded.” 

“ Thanks for your judgment,” replied the Pro- 
fessor, much pleased. “ Even your Highness 
treats me like a spirit that dwells in a book ; 
you praise me as openly as if I did not understand 
the words that you speak. I beg j^rmission to 
eonvey to your Highness my feeliugs also in 
a review.” 

“ Such as I am, I do not wish to hear any- 
thing from you,” exclaimed the Princess ; “ for 
you would, in spite of the harmlessness which 
you boast of, end by reading me as plainly as if 
I had a morocco-covered back and gilt edges. 
But I am serious when I praise you. Yes, Herr 
Werner, since you have been with us I have 
attained to a better understanding of the value 
of life. Y’ou do not know what an advantage it 
is for me to have intercoui*se with a mind which, 
undisturbed by the little trifles around it, only 
serves its high goddess of Truth. The turmoil 
of daily life bears hard upon us, and perplexes 
us ; those by whom I am surrounded, even the best 
of them, all think and care about themselves, 
and make convenient compacts betwixt their 
feeling of duty and their egotism. But in you 
I perceive unselfishness and the incessant devo- 
tion of yourself to the highest labour of man. 
There is something great and lofty in this that 
overpowers me with admiration. I feel the 
worth of such an existence, like a new light that 
penetrates my soul. Never have I known any 
one about me so inspired with heaven in his 
breast. That is my review of you, Herr Pr<i- 
fessor ; it is, perhaps, not well w'ritten, but it 
comes from my heart.” 

The eyes of the learned man shone as he 
looked at the enthusiastic countenance of the 
royal child, but he was silent. There was a 
long pause. The Princess turned away, and 
bent over her books. At last she began, with 
gentle voice : 

“ You are going to your dail}' work, I will do 
so also. Before you leave me I beg of you to be 
my instructor. I have marked a place in the 
work on art, wdiich you had the kindness to 
bring from the library, which I could not quite 
understand.” 

The Professor took the open book out of her 
hand, and laughed. 

“ This is the theory of another art ; it is not 
the right book.” 

The Princess read, “How to make blanc- 
mange.” She opened the title page : “ Intellec- 
tual cookery-book of the old Nuremberg 
kitchen.” She turned the book round with 
astonishment ; it w'as the same simple binding. 

“ How docs this come here ?” she exclaimed, 
with vexation, and rang for her maid. 

“No one has been here,” said the latter, 
“ except the Princes, a short time ago.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the Princess, depressed. 
“ Then there is no hope. We are now under 
the dominion of a mischievous hobgoblin, and 
must wait till our book turns up. Farewell, 
Herr Werner; if the hobgoblin restores me the 
book* I shall call you back.” 

When the Professor had taken leave, the 
maid came back alarmed and brought the lost 


191 


A CHAPTER FROM TAJITUS. 


Arcliajology iu sad pli^Lh The book was in tlie 
rag^e of the monkey. Giocco had studied it 
industriously, and was furious when the volume 
was taken away from him. 

At the same hour the Chamberlain u as stand- 
ing before the Priuce. 

“liour friends from the University have 
domesticated themselves with us; 1 take for 
granted that you nave done yotrr best to make 
our city agreeable to them.” 

“ Professor Werner appears W'ell contented,” 
replied the Chamberlain, with reserve. 

“ Has your sister Malwine made acquaintance 
with the Professor’s wife ?” 

“ Unfortunately my sister has been obliged to 
nurse a sick aunt in the country.” 

“ That is a pity,” replied the Prince ; “ she 
may have reason to regret this accident. Some 
time ago you expressed to me your opinion that 
some pi*actical occupation would be beneficial 
to the Hereditary Priuce; I have considered the 
subject. It will be necessary to find the means 
of a temporary residence in the district of Ros- 
sau. The old ranger’s lodge will not be ill 
adapted to it. I have determined by additional 
building to change the house into a habitable 
hunting castle. The Hereditary Prince must be 
on the spot to regulate this building according 
to his wishes, and you will accompany him. The 
building overseer has orders to draw out the 
plans according to the Prince’s directions. I 
only wish to speak to him about the proposed 
estimate. ISIeanwhile the Hereditary Priuce 
will occupy the rooms which are reserved for me 
in the ranger’s lodge. But as the building will 
not take up his u hole time, he may employ his 
leisure in obtaining an insight into our agricul- 
ture at the farm of the adjoining proprietor. 
He should learn about field-work and book- 
keeping. The year is already far advanced, 
which makes a speedy departure advisable. I 
hope this arrangement will meet a wish that 
you have long entertained. The beautiful 
country and the quiet wood will be a refreshment 
*0 you after your winter work.” 

The Chamberlain bowed dismayed before his 
master, w ho so graciously pronounced his banish- 
ment from Court. He hastened to the He- 
reditary Prince and related the bad tidings. 

“ It is exile,” he cried out, beside himself. 

“ Make your preparations speedily,” replied 
the Hereditary Prince, quietly. “I am prepared 
to go immediately.” 

The Hereditary Prince went to his father. 

“ I will do what you command, and will do 
my best to give you satisfaction. If you, my 
father, consider this residence in a distant place 
useful, I feel that you understand better than I 
what will be serviceable for my future. But,” 
he continued, w ith hesitation, “ I cannot go 
from hence without making a request which I 
have much at heart.” 

“ Speak, Benno,” said the Prince, graciously. 

“ I beg of you to release the Professor and his 
wife as quickly as possible from the neighbour- 
hood of the Court.” 

“ Why so ?” asked the Prince, sharply. 

“ The residence here is disadvantageous to 
Frau Werner. Her reputation is endangered 
by the unusual position in which she is. placed. 

I owe him and her much gratitude; their 


happiness is dear to me, and I am tormented 
with the idea that their stay in this country 
threatens to disturb the peace of their days.” 

“ And why does your gratitude fear a dis* 
turbance of the happiness which is so dear to 
you ?” asked the Prince. 

“ It is said that the Pavilion is a fidal resi- 
dence for an honourable woman,” replied the 
Hereditary Prince, decidedly. 

“ If what you call honour is endangered by 
this dwelling, then that virtue is easily lost,” 
said the Prince, bitterly. 

“ It is not the dwelling alone,” continued the 
Hereditary Prince ; “ the ladies of the Court 
have held back from her; she is ill spoken of: 
gossip and calumny are busy in making a false 
representation of her innocent life.” 

“ I hear with astonishment,” said the Prince, 
“ the lively interest you take iu the stranger ; 
yet, if I am rightly informed, you yourself 
during this time have shown her little chivalrous 
attention.” 

“ I have not done it,” exclaimed the Here- 
ditary Prince, “because I felt myself bound to 
avoid, at least as far as I was concerned, what 
might injure her. I saw the jeering looks of 
our gentlemen when she arrived ; I heard their 
derogatory words about the new beauty who 
W'as shut up in that house, and my heart beat 
with shame and anger. Therefore I have pain- 
fully controlled myself; 1 have pretended 
indifference before my household, and 1 have 
been cold in my demeanour towards her ; but, 
my father, it has been a hard task to me, and 1 
have long felt bitter anxiety ; for the happiest 
hours of my academical life w’ere passed in her 
society.” 

The Prince had turned away ; he now showed 
his son a smiling countenance. 

“ So that was the reason of your reserve. I 
had forgotten that you had reached the age for 
soft emotions, and are inclined to expend more 
enthusiastic feeling in your relations to women 
I than is good for you. Y et 1 could envy you 
this. Unfortunately, life does not long retain 
its sensitive feelings.” He approached the 
Prince, and continued, gocd-humouredly : “ I do 
not deny, Benno, that I had a different view- in 
your interest in the arrival of this stranger. For 
a prince of your nature there is perhaps nothing 
so useful as to cultivate a tender feeling for a 
woman who makes no demands on the external 
life of her friend, and yet gives him all the 
charm of an intimate union of soul. Love 
affairs with ladies of the Court or with assuming 
intrigantes would be dangerous for you ; you 
must be on your guard that the woman to whom 
you devote yourself will not trifle with you and 
selfishly make use of you for her own ends. From 
all that I knew, your connexion with the lady in 
the Pavilion was just what would be advan- 
tageous for your future life. From reasons of 
which I have full appreciation, you have avoided 
accepting this pastoral relation. You yourselt 
have not chosen what I, with the best intentions, 
prepared for you ; it appears to me, therefore, 
that you have lost the right to express any 
wishes on this occasion.” 

“ Father,” cried the Hereditary Prince, hor- 
rified, and wringing his hands, “your saying 
this to me is unmerciful. I had a dark impres- 


192 


THE I.OST MANUSCTHPT. 


sion that the invitation to them was given with 
some secret view. I have struggled with this 
suspicion, and blamed myself for it ; now I am 
dismayed with the thought that I myself am the 
innocent cause of this misfortune to these good 
people. Your words give me the right to 
repeat my request : dismiss them as quickly 
as possible, or you will make your son miser- 
able.” 

“ I learn a new phase of your character, 
replied the Prince ; “ and I am thankful to you 
for the insight that you have at last accorded 
me into your silent nature. You are either an 
exaggerated dreamer, or you have a talent for 
diplomacy that 1 have never attributed to you.” 

“ I have stated the truth to you,” exclaimed 
the Hereditary Prince. 

“ Shall the lady come to the house at Biel- 
stein to be saved ?” asked the Prince, mock- 
ingly. 

“ No,” replied the Hereditary Prince, in a 
low tone. 

“ Your demand scarcely deserves an answer,” 
continued the father. “ The strangers have 
been called here for a certain time. The hus- 
band is in my service. I am neither in a posi- 
tion to send them away, as they have given me 
no reason for dissatisfaction, nor to keep them 
here against their will.” 

“Forgive me, my father,” exclaimed the 
Hereditary Prince. “ You have yourself, by 
the gracious attention which you daily show to 
the wife, by your civil gifts and frequent visits, 
occasioned the Court to think that you take a 
special personal interest in her.” 

“ Is the Coui-t so busy in reporting to you 
what I think fit to do, on account of the un- 
seemly conduct of others ?” asked the Prince. 

“ Little is reported to me of what those about 
us say, and be assured that I do not lend a ready 
ear to their suppositions; hut it is inevitable 
that I must sometimes hear what occupies them 
all and makes them all indignant. They even 
venture to maintain that every one who does 
not show her attention is in disgrace with you ; 
and they consider that they show special firm- 
ness of character and respectability in refusing 
to he civil to her. You as well as she are 
threatened with calumny. Forgive me, my 
father, that I thus speak out. You yourself 
have by your favour brought the lady into this 
dangerous position, and therefore it lies with 
you to deliver her from it.” 

“ The Court always becomes virtuous when its 
master distinguishes a lady who does not belong 
to their circle ; and you will soon learn the 
value of such strict morals,” replied the Prince. 

“ It must be a strong feeling, Benno, which 
drives your timid nature to the utmost limits 
of the freedom of speech which is allowable from 
a son to a father.” 

A bright colour overspread the pale face of the 
Hereditary Prince. 

“ Yes, my father,” he cried, “ hear what must 
remain a secret to every other ear ; I love that 
lady with my whole heart so warmly that 1 
would with pleasure make the greatest possible 
sacrifice for her. I have felt the power which 
the beauty and innocence of a woman exercise 
on a man. I have felt with her more than once 
that T could strengthen myself by her pure 


spirit. I was happy with her, and unhai)py 
when I did not see her. During the whole year 
I have thought in secret of her, and have groAv u 
to be a man in this sorrowful feeling. That I 
have now courage to speak thus to you, I owe 
to the influence which she has exercised upon 
me. I know, my father, how unhappy such a 
passion makes one ; I know the misery of being 
for ever deprived of the woman one loves. The 
thought of the peace of her pure soul has alone 
sustained me in the bitterest hours. Now you 
know all. I have laid bare to you my secret, 
and I beg of you, my Sovereign and father, to 
receive this confidence with indulgence. If you 
have hitherto cared for my welfare, now is the 
time when you can show me the highest proof of 
your sincerity. Honour the woman who is loved 
by your unhappy son.” 

The countenance of the Prince had changed 
whilst his son was speaking, and the latter was 
terrified at its malevolent expression. 

“ Pour your poetry into the car of some knight- 
errant who drinks eagerly the w'ater into which 
the tears of his lady have dropped.” 

“ Yes ; I seek your knightly help, my Prince 
and Sovereign,” cried the Hereditary Prince, 
beside himself. “ I conjure you, do not let me 
sue you in vain. I call upon you, as the head of 
our illustrious house, and as a member of the 
society whose device we both w'ear, to do a service 
to me and for her. Do not refuse her your sup- 
port in her danger.” 

“ We are not in an assembly of knights,” re- 
plied the Prince, coldly, “ and your phrases are 
contrary to the tone of practical life. I have 
not desired your confidence — you have boldly 
forced it upon me. Do not wonder that your 
father is angry with your presumptuous speech, 
and that your Sovereign dismisses you with dis- 
pleasure.” 

The Hereditary Prince turned pale and stepped 
back. 

“ The anger of my father and the displeasure 
of my Sovereign are a misfortune which I feel 
deeply ; but still more fearful to me is the 
thought, that here at Court an injury is done 
to an innocent person — an injury in which I 
must have a share. However heavily your anger 
may fall upon me, yet I must tell you that you 
have exposed the lady to misrepresentation, and 
as long as I stand before you I will repeat it, 
and not desist from my request to remove her 
from here, for the sake of her honour and 
ours.” 

“ As your wwds ramble ceaselessly about the 
same empty phantom,” replied the Prince, “ it 
is time to put an end to this conversation. You 
will depart at once, and leave it to time to enable 
me to forget, if I ever can do so, what I have 
heard from you to-day. Till then you may re- 
flect in solitude on your folly, in wishing to play 
the part of guardian to a stranger who is quite 
in a position to take care of herself.” 

The Hereditary Prince bowed. 

“ Has my most Serene Sovereign any com- 
mands for me ?” he asked, with trembling lips. 
The Prince replied, gloomily : 

“ It only remains to you now to excite the 
stranger against your father.” 

“ Your Highness knows that this would not 
be seemly for me.” 


A CHAPTER FROM TACITUS. 


193 


Tlic Prince waved his hand, and his son de- 
parted with a silent how. 

The Prince ordered his carriage, and then 
hastened to his sister. The Princess looked 
anxiously into his disturbed countenance. 

“ You are going away ?” she exclaimed. 

Farewell!” he said, holding out his hand to 
her. I am going into the country to build a 
new castle for us in case we should wish to 
change the scene.^^ 

“ Wlien do you return, Benno ?” 

The Hei’editary Priuce shrugged his shoul- 
ders. 

“ ^^Tleu the Prince commands. My task is 
now' to become something of an architect and 
country gentleman ; this is a useful occupation. 
Farewell, Sidonie. If accident should bring you 
together with Frau Werner, I shall be obliged 
to you if you will not attend to the gossip of 
the Court, but remember that she is a worthy 
lady, and that I owe her a great debt of grati- 
tude.” 

“ Are you dissatisfied with me, my brother ?” 
asked the Princess, anxiously. 

“ Make up for it, Siddy, as well as you can. 
Farewell ! ” 

Prince Victor accompanied him to the car- 
riage. The Hereditary Prince clasped his hand, 
and looked significantly tow'ards the Pavilion. 
Victor nodded. “ I also take an interest in it,” 
he said. “ Before I go back to iny garrison I 
will visit you in the country of ferns. I expect 
to find you as a brother hermit, with a long 
beard and a cap made of the bark of trees. 
Farew’ell, Knight Toggenburg, and learn there 
^ that the best philosophy on earth is to consider 
every day as lost on which one cannot do some 
foolish trick. If one does not do this business 
one's self, others wdll take the trouble off one’s 
hands. It is alw'ays more pleasant to be the 
hammer than the anvil.” 

The Pi-ince was gloomy and silent at dinner; 
only short remarks fell from his lips, and some- 
times a bitter jest, from which one remarked 
that he was striving for composure ; the Court 
understood that this unpleasant mood w^as con- 
nected with the departure of the Hereditary 
Prince, and every one took care not to irritate 
him. The Professor alone w'as able to draAV a 
smile from him when he good-humouredly told 
about the enchanted castle Solitude. After 
dinner the Prince conversed wdth one of his 
aides-de-camp as well as the Professor. The latter 
turned to the High Steward ; and although he 
usually avoided the reserved politeness of the 
man, he on this occasion asked him some indif- 
ferent questions. The High Stew'ard answered 
civilly that the Marshal, w’ho w'as close by, could 
give him the best information, and he changed 
his place. Immediately afterw'ards the Prince 
walked straight through the company to the 
High Stew'ard, and drew him into the recess of 
the window, and began : 

“ You accompanied me on my first journey to 
Italy, and, if I am not mistaken, partook a 
little of my fondness for antiquities. Our col- 
lection wili be neu ly arranged and a catalogue 
carefully prepared.” 

The High Steward expressed his acknowdedg- 
nient of this princely liberality. 

“ Professor Werner is very active,” continued 
IJ 


the Prince ; “ it is delightful to see how eagerly 
he obtains information.” 

The High Steward remained silent. 

“ Your Excellency w’ill remember how"^ we were 
amused in the museums in Italy by the gcsticu- 
hitions of the collectors about defaced inscrip- 
tions. Our guest suffers, like most other men, 
from a fixed idea. He suspected that an old 
manuscript lay concealed in a house in our prin- 
cipality ; therefore he married the daughter of 
the proprietor ; and as, in spite of that, he has 
not found the treasure, he is now secretly seeking 
this phantasm in the old garrets of the palace. 
Has he never spoken to you of it ?” 

“ I have as yet had no occasion to seek his 
confidence,” replied the High Steward. 

“ Then you have had a loss,” continued the 
Prince ; “ he speaks in his w'ay well and readily 
about it ; it would amuse you to take a nearer 
view of this kind of folly. Come presently with 
him into my study.” 

The High Steward bow’cd ; and, on the break- 
ing up of the party, informed the Professor that 
the Prince w'ished to speak to him. 

The gentlemen entered the Prince’s room, in 
order to have an enlivening conversation with 
him. 

“ I have told his Excellency,” the Prince 
began, “ that you have a special object of inte- 
rest which you pursue like a sportsman. How 
does it go on with the manuscript ?” 

The lh*ofessor recounted his new discovery of 
the two chests. 

“ The next hunting-ground which I hope to 
try are the garrets and rooms in the summer 
castle of the Princess; if these yield me no 
booty, I shall at least know that I have left 
scarcely any place unsearched.” 

“ I shall be delighted if you soon attain your 
object,” said the Prince, looking at the High 
Steward. “ I assume that the discovery of this 
manuscript will be of importance for your own 
life. You will understand well how to make it 
known in print.” 

“ It would be the noblest task that could fall 
to my lot,” replied the Professor, “ always sup- 
posing that your Highness would graciously 
confide the work to me.” 

“You shall undertake the work, and no 
other,” replied the Prince, laughing, “ so far as 
I have the right to decide it. So the invisible 
book will be really of great importance to 
learning ?” 

“ The greatest importance. The contents of 
it will be of the highest value to every learned 
man. I think it would also interest your High- 
ness,” said the Professor, innocently, “ for the 
Roman Tacitus is in a certain sense a Court his- 
torian ; the main point of his narrative is the 
characters of the Emperors who, in the first 
century of our era, decided the fate of the old 
world. It is indeed, on the whole, a sorrowful 
picture.” 

“ Is he an opposition writer ?” inquired the 
Prince. 

“ He is the great describer of the peculiar 
deformity of character which is found in the 
sovereigns of the ancient world, we have to 
thank liim for a succession of psychological 
descriptions of a malady which then developed 
itself on the throne.” 


194 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


That is new to me,” replied the Prince, fid- 
geting on his chair. 

“ Your Highness will, I am convinced, view 
with the g^'eatest sympathy the various forms of 
this mental malady, and will find in other 
periods of the past — nay, even in the earlier state 
of our own people — many remarkable parallel 
cases.” 

“ Do you speak of a special malady which 
only befals rulers ?” asked the Prince ; “ the 
physicians will be grateful to you for this dis- 
covery.” 

“ 111 fact,” cried the Professor, eagerly, the 
fearful impoi-tance of this phenomenon is far too 
little estimated ; no other has exercised such an 
immeasurable influence on the fate of nations. 
The destruction by pestilence and war is little in 
comparison with the fatal devastation of nations 
which has been occasioned by this special mis- 
fortune of the rulers. For this malady, which 
raged long after Tacitus among the Roman em- 
perors, is not a sufiering which is confined to 
ancient Rome — it is undoubtedly as old as the 
despots of the human race, even later it has been 
the lot of numerous rulers in Christian states ; it 
has produced in every period deformed and gro- 
tesque characters ; it has been for thcsaiids of 
years the worm enclosed in the brain, consuming 
the marrow of the head, destroying the judg- 
ment and corroding the moral feelings, until at 
last nothing remained but the hollow glitter of 
life. Sometimes it became madness which could 
be proved by medical men, but in numerous 
other cases tlie capacity for practical life did not 
cease and the secret mischief was carefully con- 
cealed. There were periods when only occa- 
sional firmly-established minds preserved their 
full healthy vigour ; and again other centuries 
Avhen the heads that wore a diadem inhaled a 
fresh atmosphere from the people. 1 am coti- 
viuced that he whose vocation it is to investigate 
accurately the circumstances of later times will, 
in the course of them, discover the same malady 
under a milder form. My life lies far from these 
observations, but the Roman state shows un- 
doubtedly the strangest forms of the malady; 
for there were the widest relations, and such a 
powerful development of human nature both in 
virtue and vice us has seldom since been found 
in history.” 

It seems to be a particular pleasure to the 
learned gentlemen to bring to light these suffer- 
ings of former rulers,” said the Prince. 

“ They are certainly instructive for all times,” 
continued the Professor, confidently, “ for by 
feaj’ful example they impress upon one the truth 
that the higher is a man’s position, the stronger 
are the barriers necessary to restrain the arbi- 
trariness of his nature. Your Highness’s inde- 
pendent judgment and rich experience will 
enable you to discern, more distinctly than any 
one of my sphere of life, that the phenomena of 
this malady always show themselves where the 
ruling powers have less to fear and to honour 
than other mortals. What preserves a man in 
ordinary situations is that he feels himself at 
every moment of his life under strict and inces- 
sant control ; his friends, the law, and the in- 
terest of others surround him on all sides, tliey 
demand imperiouoly that he should conform his 
thoughts and will by rules which secure the 


welfare of others. At all times the powder of 
these fetters is less effective on the ruler; he 
can easily cast off what confines him, an ungra- 
cious movement of the hand frightens the Warner 
for ever from his side, from morning to evening 
he is surrounded by persons who accommodate 
themselves to him ; no friend reminds him of 
his duty, no law punishes him. Hundreds of 
examples teach us that former rulers, even 
amidst great optward success, suffered from a 
ruined soul, where they were not guarded by a 
strong public opinion, or incessantly constrained 
by the powerful participation of the people in 
the state. It goes to one’s heart to think of the 
gigantic power of a general and conqueror 
whose successes and victories brought devastation 
and intoxication into his own life ; he became a 
fearful sham, a liar to himself and a liar to the 
world before he was overthrown, and long before 
he died. To investigate similar cases is, as I 
said, not my vocation.” 

“ No.” said the Prince, in a faint voice. 

“ The distant time,” began the High Steward, 
“ of which you speak, was a sad epoch for the 
people as well as the rulers. If I am not mis- 
taken a feeling of decay was general, and the 
admired writers were of little value ; at least it 
appears to me that Apuleius and Lucian were 
frivolous and lamentably common men.” 

The Professor looked surprised at the courtier. 

“ In my youth I frequently read such 
authors,” he continued. “ I do not blame the 
better ones of that period, when they turned 
away with disgust from such doings, and with- 
drew into the closest private life, or into the 
Theban wilderness. Therefore when you speak 
of a malady of the Roman empei’ors, I might 
retort that it was only the result of the mon- 
strous malady of the people ; although I see 
quite well that during this corruption in- 
dividuals accomplished a great advance in the 
human race, the freeing the people from the ex- 
clusiveness of nationality to the unity of culture, 
and the new ideal which was brought upon earth 
by Christianity.” 

“ Undoubtedly the form of the state, and the 
style of culture which each individual emperor 
found, were decisive for his life. Every one is, 
in this sense, the child of his own time, aud when 
it is a question of judging the measure of his 
guilt, it is fitting to weigh cautiously such con- 
siderations. But what I had the honour of 
pointing out to his Highness as the special merit 
of Tacitus, is only the masterly way with which 
he describes the peculiar symptoms and course 
of the Ca>sar frenzy.” 

“ Were they all frenzied ? ” interrupted the 
Prince, with a hoarse voice. 

“ Pardon, gracious Sovereign,” rejoined the 
Professor, innocently. “Augustus became a 
better man on the throne, and almost a century 
after the time of Tacitus there were good aud 
moderate rulers. But something of the curse 
which unlimited power exercises on the soul 
may be discovered in most of the Roman em- 
perors. In the better ones it was like a malady 
which seldom showed itself, but was restrained 
by good sense or a good nature. Many of them 
indeed were utterly corrupted, and iu them the 
malady developed itself iu a succession of steps, 
the law of which one can easily understand.” 


195 


HUMMEL’S CESARIAN TRAITS. 


“ Then you also know u hat was in the heart 
of those people,” said the Prince, lookiue: shvlv 
at tlie Professor. 

The High Steward ensconced himself in the 
window. 

It is not difficult in general to observe the 
course of the malady,” replied the Professor, en- 
grossed with his subject. “ The first accession 
to power has an elevating tendency. The 
highest earthly vocation raises even narrow- 
minded men like Claudius; even depraved 
villains like Caligula, Nero, and Domitian, 
showed a certain nobleness at first. There is 
an eager desire to p'ease, and strenuous exertion 
to establish themselves by graciousness ; a fear 
of influential persons or of the opposition of the 
masses compels a certain moderation. Rut 
arbitrary power has made men slaves, and the 
slavish feeling shows itself in an abject venera- 
tion which puts the emperor on a pinnacle 
above other men ; he is treated as if specially 
favoured by the goda, nay, as if his soul was an 
emanation of godly power. Amid this adoration 
by all, and the seem ity of power, egotism soon 
increases. The accidental demands of an un- 
restrained will become reckless, the soul 
loses gradually the power of distinguishing be- 
tween good and evil ; his personal wishes appear 
to the ruler henceforth as the necessity of the 
state, and every whim of the moment must be 
satisfied. Distrust of all who are independent 
leads to senseless suspicion ; he who will not be 
pliant is set aside as an enemy, and he who 
adapts himself with suppleness is sure to ex- 
ercise a mastery over the ruler. Family bonds 
are severed, the nearest relations are •watched as 
secret enemies, the deceptive show of hearty 
confidence is kept, but suddenly some evil deed 
breaks through the veil which hypocrisy has 
drawn over a hollow relation.” 

The Prince slow ly drew back his chair from 
the fire into the dark. 

The Professor continued, eagerly : 

“ The idea of the state at last entirely 
vanishes from the soul ; only personal depen- 
dence is required ; true devotion to the state 
becomes a crime. This helplessness, and the 
cessation of the power of judging of the worth — 
nay, even of the attachment of men — betoken an 
advance of the malady by which the capacity of 
taking any practical view is injured. Now' the 
elements of which the character is formed be- 
come more contracted and one-sided, the w ill 
more frivolous and paltry. A childish weak- 
ness becomes perceptible ; pleasure in miserable 
trifles and empty jokes, together with knavish 
tricks which destroy w ithout aim ; it becomes 
enjoyment not only to toiment and see the 
torments of others, but also an irresistible plea- 
sure to drag all that is venerated down to a 
common level. It is very remaikable how', in 
consequence of this decay of thought, an unquiet 
and destructive sensuality takes the place of all. 
Its dark power becomes oveipowering, and in- 
stead of the honounible old age which gives dig- 
nity even to the w’eak, w'c are disgusted by the 
repugnant picture of decrepid debauchees like 
Tiberius and Claudius. The last powers of life are 
destroyed by shameless and refined dissoluteness.” 

“ That is very remarkable,” repeated the 
Prince, mecluinically. 


The Professor concluded : “ Thus are accom- 
plished the four gradations of ruin : first, 
gigantic egotism ; then, suspicion and hy- 
pocrisy ; then, childish senselessness ; and, lastly, 
repugnant excess.” 

The Prince rose slowly from his chair; he 
tottered, and the High Stew'ard drew' near to 
him teri'ified, but he leant his hand on the arm 
of the chair, and, turning languidly to the Pro- 
fessor without looking at him, said, slowly : 

I thank you for an agreeable hour.” 

One could perceive tl«5 effort which it cost 
him to bring out the words. 

In going out the Professor asked in alow tone 
of the High Steward : 

“ I fear I have w'eaiied the Prince by this long 
discussion.” 

The High Stew'ard looked with astonishment 
at the friendly countenance of the learned man. 

“ I do not doubt that the Prince w ill very 
soon show you that he has listened w ith atten- 
tion.” 

When they were on the stairs they heard in 
the distance a hoarse, discordant sound ; the old 
gentleman shuddered, and leant against the w'all. 

The Professor listened ; all was still. 

“ It was like the cry of a w ild beast,” he said. 

“ The sound came from the street,” replied the 
High Steward, 

— ' 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Heee Hahn w’as walking by the side of his 
garden fence, his soul filled with gratitude ; but 
as this was prevented from streaming out 
throutrh the usual valve of friendly speech, it 
compelled him to take refuge in those chambers 
of his mind in which he kept the plans for the 
beautifying of his garden. His noble-hearted 
opponent w’as about to keep his birthday ; this 
Herr Hahn had discovered in a roumlabout way. 
On this day he might perhaps be able to show 
him some secret sign of esteem. The greatest 
treasures iu Herr Halm’s garden w’ere his staud- 
ards and bush roses of every size and colour, — 
splendid flowers which bloomed almost the 
whole year, and were much admired by the 
passers by. They were all in pots ; his delight 
was to move tluun about himself in the garden, 
and arrange them ornamentally in dittereut 
groups. These roses he determined to dedicate 
as a quiet homage to Herr Hummel. He had 
long lamented a desolate space in the middle of 
his enemy’s garden ; it had lain empty the 
whole summer as a place of rop( se for the red 
dog or a roving cat. When Herr Hummel 
should enter his garden on his birthday he 
should find the round bed changed into a bloom- 
ing group of roses. 

This thought occasioned Herr Hahn many 
happy hours, and raised him a little from the 
depth of his .sorrows. He carried the roses into 
a concealed corner, arranged them in rank aud 
file according to their size and colour, and wrote 
their numbers w'ith chalk on the pots. The 
park-keeper, whose house stood at the extreme 
outpost of the city by the river, had a little 
boat ; this he lent to Herr Hahn confidentially 
lor some hours in the night. Before the early 
dawu of morning on the enemy’s birthday, he 


196 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


slipped out of his house, carried the pots in the 
boat to the small steps which led from the water- 
side into the garden of Herr Hummel ; he 
glided with his loved roses to the ro.nd bed, 
ari-anged them noiselessly according to their 
number, planted each separately, and changed 
the desert spot into a splendid parterre of roses. 
When the sparrows in the gutters twittered out 
their first querulous abuse, he had smoothed 
down the earth in the bed with a small rake. 
He cast a look of pleasure on his work, and 
another on the still dusky outline of the house, 
within w'hich Herr Hummel still slept, unpre- 
pared for the surprise of the morning, and then 
glided with his spade and empty pots into his 
boat, rowed himself up to the house of the park- 
keeper, and concealed himself and his garden 
utensils on his own ground before the first rays 
of the sun painted his chimney with rosy colours. 

Herr Hummel entered his sitting-room at the 
usual hour, received with good-humour the con- 
gratulations of his ladies, looked graciously at 
the birthday cake which Frau Philippine had 
placed with his coffee, and on the travelling-bag 
which Laura had embroidered for him, took his 
newspaper in his hand, and prepared himself, by 
participation in the political concerns of men in 
genei’al, for the business of his own life. All 
this passed off well ; he received, in his factory 
and at his counter, congratulations like a lamb; 
he stroked the snarling dog, and wrote business 
letters full of respect to his customers. When 
towards the middle of the day he returned to 
his ladies, the Doctor entered his room to offer 
his congratulations, a dark cloud gathered on 
the sunny countenance of the master of the 
house, and lightning flashed from under his 
ambrosial eyebrows. 

“ What, Saul among the prophets ! Are you 
come to fetch a lost ass back to your father^s 
home ? We could not have expected that. Or 
are you to give us a discourse about the ourang- 
outang in the cocoa-nut country ?” 

“ My discourses have not been troublesome to 
you,” replied the Doctor. “ 1 have not come in 
order that your hospitable politeness should 
take the trouble to entertain those present by 
the outpouring of your good humour. I have 
already expressed to you my wish never to be 
the object of it.” 

“ Then defend yourself if you can,” cried Herr 
Hummel. 

“ 1 am only prevented,” replied the Doctor, 
by consideration for those present from giving 
you in your own house the auswer which you 
seem to wish,” 

“ 1 should be sorry if you should be placed 
within my house at a disadvantage,” replied 
Hummel. “ 1 propose to you, therefore, to put 
yourself on an equal footing with me, by 
remaining in your own home and putting your 
head out of the window. I will do the same ; 
W'e ean then sing out to one another across the 
street, like tw’o canary birds.” 

“ But as I am here now,” said the Doetor, 
with a bow, “ 1 claim to be allowed to eat this 
piece of birthday cake in peace among friendly 
faces.” 

“ Then I beg of you to resign the sight of 
my face w ithout ovei-poweriug sorrow,” replied 
Hummel. 


He opened the door into the gai'dcn, and w'ent 
dow'n the steps discontentedly. Whilst still at 
a distance he saw' the young group of roses 
smiling innocently in the light of the sun. He 
walked round the spot, shook his head, and in- 
vited his ladies into the garden. 

“ Which of you has had this idea ?” he asked. 

Tlie ladies showed such lively surprise that he 
w'as convinced of their innocence. He called to 
the old storekeeper and the book-keeper. All 
showed entire ignorance. The countenance of 
Herr Hummel became gloomy. 

“ What does this mean ? Some one has 
slipped in here whilst w'e slept. Night garden 
work is not to my taste. Who has ventured to 
enter my piece of ground w’ithout permission ? 
Who has brought in these products of nature ?” 

He went disquieted along the side of the 
water : behind him follow'cd Speihahn. He 
crept down the steps to the water, smelt at a 
bit of brown w'ood which lay on the last step, 
came up again, turned tow’ards the house of 
Hear Hahn, and set up his back like a cat, 
mockingly, and made a snarling. It meant as 
clearly as if he had spoken the friendly words, 

“ 1 long to have a bite.” 

Right,” cried Hummel ; “ the intruder has 
left behind the handle of the rudder. The 
brown handle belongs to the boat of the park- 
keeper. Take it over to him, Klaus. 1 demand 
an answ'er ; who has ventured to bring his boat 
alongside here ?” 

The storekeeper hastened away with the piece 
of wood, and brought buck the answer with an 
embarrassed air: 

“ Herr Hahn had in the night borrowed the 
boat.” 

“ If there are forebodings,” cried Hummel, 
angrily, “ this was one. I'he nightly sneaking 
of your father I forbid under all circumstances,” 
he continued, to the Doctor. 

“ I know' nothing of it,” rejoined the Doctor. 

“ If my father has done this, 1 beg of you, even 
if you do not value the roses, to be pleased with 
the good intention.” 

“I protest against every rose that may be 
strewed on my path,” cried Hummel. “ First 
we had poisoned dumplings, w'ith evil intentions; 
and now rose leaves, with good ones. Your 
father should think of something else than such 
jokes. The ground and soil are mine, and this 
scraping of the hens 1 shall prevent.” 

He charged wildly into the roses, laid hold I 
of stems and branches, tore them out of the j 
ground, and threw' them into a confused heap. ' 

The Doctor turned gloomily away, but Laura 
hastened to her father and looked angrily into f 
his hard face. 

“ What you have rooted up,” she exclaimed, |i 
“ I w ill replace with my own hands.” i 

She ran to a corner of the garden, brought ^ 
some pots, knelt dow'u on the ground, and ! 
pressed the stems with the little balls of earth 
into them as eagerly as her father had rooted 
them up. 

“ I will take care of them,” she called out, to 
the Doctor ; “ tell your dear father that all in 
our house do not undervalue his friendship.’^ 

“ Make up your mind to what you cannot 
help,” replied HeiT Hummel, more quietly. 

“ Klaus, why do you stand there on your liind- 


HUMMEL’S CESAEIAN TRAITS. 


legs staring like a tortoise ? Give your help to 
Friiuleiu Hummel in this garden work. Then 
carry the whole birthday present hack again to 
the youthful flower-grower. My compliments, 
and he must in the darkness have mistaken the 
gardens. He had better water the roses himself 
until we young maidens go together to the 
dance. Then 1 will ask him for the green stuff 
for a wreath.” 

He turned his hack upon the company, and 
went with heavy steps to his counter. Laura 
knelt on the ground and worked at the ill-used 
roses with heightened colour and gloomy deter- 
mination. The Doctor helped silently. He had 
seen his father behind the hedge, and knew how 
deeply the poor man would feel the new insolence 
of his adversary. Laura did not desist till she 
had put all the flowers as well as possible into 
the pots ; then she plunged her hands into the 
stream, and her tears mixed with the water. 
She led the Doctor back to the room ; there she 
wrung her hands quite beside herself. 

“ Life is horrible ; our happiness is destroyed 
in this miserable quarrel. Only one thing can 
save you and me. You are a man, and must 
find out what can deliver us from this misery.” 

She rushed out of the room j the mother 
beckoned eagerly to the Doctor to remain be- 
hind, when he was on the point of following. 

“ She is beside herself,” cided Fritz. “ What 
do her words mean ? What does she desire of 
me ?” 

The mother seated herself on the sofa, em- 
barrassed and full of anxiety, cleai-ed her throat, 
and twitched at her sleeves. 

“I must confide something to you, Herr 
Doctor,” she began, hesitatingly, “which will 
be very painful to us both ; but I know not 
what to do, and all the representations that I 
make to my unhappy child are in vain. Not to 
conceal anything from you, — it is a great aber- 
ration, — and 1 should have thought such a thing 
impossible.” 

She stopped and concealed her face in her 
pocket-handkerchief. Fritz looked anxiously at 
the disturbed face of Frau Hummel. A secret 
of Laura’s that he had for weeks foreboded was 
now to fill destructively on his hopes. 

“ I will confess all to you, dear Doctor,” con- 
tinued the mother, with many sighs. “ Laura 
values you beyond measure, and the idea of be- 
coming your wife — I must say it in confidence 
—is not strange or disagreeable to her. But 
she has a fearlul idea in her head, and I am 
ashamed to express it.” 

“ Speak out,” cried the Doctor, in despair. 

“ Laura wishes you to cany her ofl‘.” 

Fritz sat with his eyes fixed. 

“ It is scarcely for a mother to express this 
wish to you, but I do not know how to do other- 
wise.” 

“But where to?” cried the Doctor, quite 
aghiist. 

“ That is the most painful part of all, as you 
yourself must acknowledge. What put the 
idea into her head, whether poetry, or reading 
of the great world in the newspapers, I know 
not. But to her frame of mind, which is always 
excited and tragic, 1 can oppose no resistance. 
1 fear imparting it to my husband. I conjure 
you to do what you can to calm my child. Her 


197 

feelings are lacerated, and I can no longer resist 
the inward struggle of this young heart.” 

“I beg permission,” replied the Doctor, “to 
speak immediately with Laura on the subject.” 

Without waiting for the mother’s answer, ho 
hastened up the stairs to Laura’s room. He 
knocked, but receiving no answer, tore open the 
door. Laura was sitting at her writing-table, 
sobbing violently. 

“ Dear, sweet Laura,” exclaimed the Doctor, 
“ I have been speaking with your mother ; let 
me know all.” 

Laura started up. 

“ Every warm feeling is rejected with scorn, 
every hour that I see you is embittered by the 
hostility of my father. The heart of the 
poorest maiden palpitates when she hears the 
voice of the man she loves ; but I must ask, is 
that the happiness of love ? When 1 do not see 
you I am in anxiety about you, and when you 
come to us I feel tormented, and listen with 
terror to every word of my father. 1 see you 
joyless and cast down. Fritz, your love for me 
makes you unhappy.” 

“ Patience, Laura,” said the Doctor j “ let us 
persevere. My confidence in your father’s heart 
is greater than yours. He will gradually recon- 
cile himself to me.” 

“ After he has broken both our hearts ; even 
great love is crushed by constant opposition. I 
cannot, amidst the wrangling of our hostile 
families, become your wife ; the narrow street 
and the old hatred are destructive to me. I 
have often sat here lamenting that, I was not a 
man wdio could boldly battle for his own happi- 
ness. Listen to a secret Fritz,” she cried out, 
approaching him, again wringing her hands j 
“ 1 become here haughty, malicious, and 
wicked.” 

“ I have observed nothing of that kind,” re- 
plied Fritz, astonished. 

“ 1 conceal it from you,” exclaimed Laura ,* 
“ but I struggle daily with bad thoughts, and I 
am indifterent to the* love of my parents. When 
my father pats my head, the devil cries within 
me he had better leave it alone. When my 
mother admonishes me to have patience, her 
talk secretly irritates me, because she uses finer 
words than are necessary. I hate the dog, so 
that I often hit him without cause. The con- 
versation at the Sunday dinner, the stories of 
the old actor, and the eternal little tittle-tattle 
of the street appear insupportable to me. I feel 
that I am an odious child, and 1 have frequently 
in this place w’ept over and hated myself. These 
bad fits are ever recurring and become more 
ovei’powering. I shall never be better here ; we 
live under a curse, like two ill-conducted chil- 
dren. We sink, Fritz, in this place ! Even the 
loving care of parents ceases to make one happy 

the anxiety that one should not wet one s feet, 

that one should wear woollen stockings, and have 
cakes and sugar plums on a Sunday is one to 
go through all this every year of one’s life ?” 

She burst open her album book, and held out 
to him a bundle of poems and letters. 

“ Here are your letters ; through these 1 have 
learnt to love you, for here is what I revere in 
you. Thus would I always have you. When, 
therefore, 1 think of what you have to go 
through between our houses and to bear from 


193 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


my father, and when I observe that you wear a 
double shawl under every rough blast, I become 
anxious and fearful about you ; and I see you 
before me as a spoilt bookworm, and myself as a 
little stout w’oman w'ith a large cap and an 
insignificant face, sitting before the coffee cups, 
talking over the daily passers by, and this 
thought draws the strings of my heart to- 
gether.” 

Fritz recognised his letters. He had long felt 
certain that Laura was his secret confidant, 
but when he now looked at the loved one who 
held up to him the secret correspondence, he no 
longer thought of the caprice which had occa- 
sioned him so much grief; he thought only of 
her true-heartedness and of the poetry of this 
tender connexion. 

“ Dear, dear Laura,” he exclaimed, embracing 
her, “ unquiet, beating heart, where is the cheer- 
ful pride which guided your hand when you cast 
the cord round the neck of the poor collector ? 
It seems as if two souls with which my heart 
had intercourse had become one, but you now 
divide me and yourself into human beings of 
daily life, and into higher natures. What has 
destroyed your cheerful confidence ?” 

“ Our difficulties, Fritz, and the sorrow of 
seeing you without pleasure, and hearing your 
voice without being elevated by it ; you are with 
me, and yet further off* from me than in those 
days when 1 did not see you at all, or only in the 
society of friends.” 

She released herself from his embrace. 

“ Do you love me ? and are you the man who 
has written these ? If so, venture to withdraw 
me from this captivity. Begin a new life with 
me. 1 will work with you and be self-denying; 
you shall see of what I am capable ; I will think 
day and night of how I can earn our mainten- 
ance, that you may be undisturbed by petty 
cares in your learned work. Be brisk and bold, 
cast off’ your eternal caution, venture for once 
to do what may make others shrug their shoul- 
ders.” 

“ If I were to do it,” answered Fritz, seriously, 
“the risk would be small for me. For you the 
consequences may be such as you do not think 
of. How can you imagine that a rash determi- 
nation can be good for you if it throws fresh 
discord into your soul, and burdens your w'hole 
life with a feeling of guilt towards others ?” 

“ If I take upon myself to do what is wrong,” 
exclaimed Laura, gloomily, “ I do it not for 
myself alone. I feel but too w'ell that it is 
wrong, but I venture it for our love. Never 
will my father voluntarily lay my hand in yours. 
n»4tnows that 1 am devoted to you, and is not 
so hard as to wish my unhappiness, but he can- 
not overcome his disinclination. One day he is 
compelled to acknowledge that you are the man 
to whom I ought to belong, the next the bitter 
feeling of how hateful it is to him again returns. 
If you venture to defy him you will do what is 
really agreeable to him ; show a strong will, and, 
though he may be angi’y, he will easily be ap- 
peased by your courage. He loves me,” she 
said, in a low tone, “ but he is fearfully hard to 
others.” 

“ Is he always so ?” asked the Doctor. “ It 
Is clear the daughter does not know the full 
worth of her father I should at this moment 


be doing both him and you an injustice if I were 
to conceal from you uhat lie wishes to keep 
secret. Listen, then : when my poor father was 
sitting by me in despair, your father entered our 
house and gave us in the most magnanimous 
way the means of averting the threatened blow. 
Do you not know that his sulkiness and quarrel- 
someness are frequently only the expression of a 
rough humour ?” 

Laura watched his mouth as if she wished to 
devour every word that fell from his lips. 

“ Did my father do this ?” she cried, quite 
beside herself, raising her arms towards heaven, 
and throw'ing herself down by her writing-table. 

Fritz wished to raise her. 

*• Leave me,” she entreated, passionately, “ it 
will pass off'. I am happy. Leave me alone 
now, beloved one.” 

The Doctor closed the door gently, and went 
down to the mother, who still sat on the sofa 
overwhelmed with anxiety, revolving in her 
mind, with motherly alarm, all the exciting 
scenes of an elopement. 

“ I beg of you,” he said, “ not to worry Laura 
now by remonstrances. She will of herself, 
again become calm. Trust to her noble heart.” 

With these wise words the Doctor endea- 
voured to comfort himself. Meanwhile Laura 
lay supported against the chair, and thought 
over her injustice to her father. For years she 
had borne the sorrow which is bitterest to the 
heart of a child, and now the pressure was taken 
from her soul. At last she sprang up, drew 
out her diary, tore out one page after another, 
crumpled up the leaves and threw them into the 
stove — a small sacrifice. She watched it till the 
last sparks flickered in the dark ashes, then she 
closed the stove and hastened out of the room. 

Herr Hummel was sitting in his warehouse 
before a battalion of new hats with broad brims 
and round crowns, which were placed for review 
before his field-marshal’s eye, and he spoke re- 
provingly to his book-keeper : 

“ They are like mere barbers’ basins ; a man 
loses his height. At all events, we shall make 
profit by these coverings : no one remarks the 
cats’-skin of w'hich they are made ; but they rob 
the head of the German citizen of the last re- 
mains of fresh air, which he has hitherto secretly 
carried about w'ith him in his cylinder. In my 
youth one recognised a citizen by three points : 
on his body he w'ore a coat of blue cloth, on his 
head a black hat, and in his pocket a great 
house-key, w'ith the ring of which, in case of 
assault by night, he could twist the noses of 
assassins. Now' he goes off in a grey jacket to 
drink his beer, opens the door of the house with 
a small corkscrew-, and the last cylinder will 
probably be bought up as a rarity for art collec- 
tions. You may put aside part of our manu- 
facture for antiquarians.” 

This pleasant grumbling was interrupted by 
Laura, who entered eagerly, seized her father’s 
hand, with an imploring look, and drew him 
from his w-arehouse into his small counting- 
house. Herr Hummel submitted to be thus led, 
as patiently as Lot when the angel led him from 
the burning cities of the valley. When she w-as 
alone with her father she threw her arms round 
his neck, kissed and stroked his cheek, and for 
a long time could bring out nothing but “ My 


HUMMEL’S CESARIAN TRAITS. 


199 


good, nolde fatlier.” Herr Hummel was well 
pleased with this stormy caressing for a time. 

“ Now, 1 have had enough of this great affec- 
tion. What do you want ? This introduction 
is too grand for a new parasol or a concert 
ticket.” 

“ Father,” cried Laura, “ I know all that 
you have done for our neighbour. 1 beg your 
pardon ; I, unhappily, have misunderstood your 
heart, and have many times resented your harsh- 
ness.” 

She kissed his hands, tears falling from her 
eyes. 

“ Has that sly dog over the way blabbed ?” 
asked Hummel. 

“ He was obliged to tell me, and it was a 
happy moment for me. Now I will acknowledge 
all to you with shame and repentance. Forgive 
me,” 

She sank down before him. 

“ Father, 1 have long been sick at heart. I 
have thought you heartless. Your eternal grum- 
bling and enmity to our neighbour have made 
me very unhappy', and my life here has often 
been miserable.” 

Herr Hummel sat erect and serious, but a 
little dismayed at the confession of his child, 
and he had an indistinct impression that he had 
carried his rough opposition too far. 

“ That is enough,” he said ; “ it is all excited 
stuff and fancy. If I have irritated myself for 
some time past, it has not come amiss to you 
nor to him over the way. It is an unreasonable 
sorrow that now excites your lamentations.” 

“ Have consideration for me,” entreated 
Laura. “ An irresistible longing has entered 
my soul to issue forth from tliis narrow street. 
Father, 1 u'ould like to take a leap into the 
world.” 

“ Not amiss,” said Herr Hummel. “ I also 
should like to take a leap, if I only knew where 
this jolly world is to be found.” 

“ Father, you have often told me how light 
was your heart when you wandered forth as a 
boy from the little town, and that from these 
wanderings you became a man.” 

“ That is true,” replied Hummel. It was 
a fine morning, and I had eight groschen in my 
pocket. 1 was as lively as a dog with wings.” 

“ Father, I should like also to rove about.” 

“ You ?” asked Hummel. “ I have laid aside 
my knapsack ; there are only a few hairs re- 
maining on it, but you may put your boots over 
it ; then one cannot see it.” 

“ Good, father, I will also go out and sing, I 
■will go among strangers, and look out for what 
will please me. 1 will try my powers, and fight 
my way with my own hands.” 

“You must put on breeches,” said Hummel; 
“ you cannot otherwise go alone in your wan- 
derings.” 

“ I will take some one with me,” answered 
Laura, softly. 

“ Our maid Susan ? she can carry a lantern 
for you. The roads in this world are sometimes 
muddy.” 

“ No, father ; I mean the Doctor.” 

She raised herself up to his ear and whis- 
pered : 

“ I want the Doctor to elope with me.” 

“ Ah, you little spider ! ” cried Hummel, sur- 


prised. “You carried off by the lk)ctor! If 
you were to carry him oil’ there would be more 
sense in it.” 

“ That I will do also,” replied Laura. 

“ Mutually, then,” said Hummel. “ Listen : 
the matter becomes serious. Leave off em- 
bracing me, keep your hands off, and make a 
face beseeming a citizen’s daughter and not an 
actress.” 

He pushed her down on the window-seat. 

“Now speak to the point. So you intend to 
carry off the Doctor ? I ask you, with what 
means ? For your pocket money will not reach 
far, and he over the way has not much to spare 
for such Sunday pleasures ? I ask you, will 
you first marry him ? If so, the elopement would 
be very suspicious, for I have neA’er yet heard of 
a woman carrying off her husband by force. If 
you do not marry him, there is something which 
you must learn from your mother, and which is 
called modesty. Out with it ! ” 

“ I wish to have him for a husband,” said 
Laura, softly. 

“ Ah, thus the thrush pipes ; and was your 
Doctor ready to take charge of you before mar- 
riage, and to run away with you ?” 

“ No ; he spoke as you do, aud reminded me 
that I ought not to give you pain.” 

“ He is occasionally humane,” replied Hum- 
mel; “I am indeed indebted to him for his good 
intentions. Finally, I ask you, where wiU you 
carry him off to ?” 

“ To Bielstein, father. There is the church in 
which Use was married.” 

“ I understand,” said Hummel, “ ours are too 
large ; and what afterwards ? Do you mean to 
work as a day-labourer on the property ?” 

“ Father, if we could but travel,” said Laura, 
imploringly. 

“ Why not,” replied Hummel, ironically; “to 
America, perhaps, as colleagues of Knips junior ? 
You are as mad as a March hare. The legiti- 
mate and only daughter of Herr Hummel will 
run away from her father and mother, from a 
solid house and flourishing business, with her 
neighbour’s only son, who is in his way also legi- 
timate, to a fools’ paradise. I never could have 
thought that this hour would have arrived.” 

He paced up and dov?n. 

“ Now hear your father. If you had been a 
boy I would have had you well thrashed ; but 
you are a girl, and your mother has formed you 
according to her principles. Now I perceive 
with horror that we have allowed you to have 
too much your own way, and that you may be 
unhappy for your whole life. You have got the 
Doctor into your head, and you might as Avell 
have fixed upon a tragic hero or a prince, and it 
shocks me to think of it.” 

“ But I have not thought of these,” replied 
Laura, dejectedly; “for I am my father’s 
daughter.” 

Hummel laid hold of the plaits of her hair 
and examined her critically : 

“Pig-headed, but the mixture is different; 
there is something of higher womanliness with 
it ; fancifulness, and whimsical ideas. That is 
the misfortune; here a powerful stroke of the 
brush is necessary.” 

These words he repeated several times, and 
sat down thoughtfully on his chair. 


200 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


“ So you wish for my consent to this little 
elopement, I give it you upon one condition. 
The affair shall remain between us two; you 
shall do nothing without my will, and your 
mother must not know that you have spoken to 
me of it. You shall take a drive into the M'orld, 
but in my way. For the rest, I thank you for 
this present that you have made me on my 
birthday. Y^ou are a pretty violet that I have 
brought up. Has one ever heard of such a plant 
taking itself by the head and tearing itself out 
of the ground ?” 

Laura embraced him again, and wept. 

“ Do not set your pump in motion,^’ cried Herr 
Hummel, untouched; “that cannot help either 
of us. A happy journey, Fraulein Hummel.” 

Laura, however, did not go, but remained 
clinging to his neck. The father kissed her on 
the forehead. 

“ Away with you ; I must consider with what 
brush I shall stroke you smooth.” 

Laura left the room. Herr Hummel sat long 
alone by his desk, holding his head with both 
hands. At last he began to whistle in a low 
tone the old Dessauer — a sign to the book- 
keeper, who was entering, soft feelings had the 
upper hand with him. 

“Go across to the Doctor, and beg him to 
take the trouble of coming over to me imme- 
diately.” 

The Doctor entered the counting-house. Herr 
Hummel rummaged in his desk and brought out 
a little paper. 

“ Here, I give you back the present that you 
once made me.” 

The Doctor opened it, and two little gloves 
lay within. 

“ You may give these gloves to my daughter 
on the day on which you are married to her, 
and you can tell her they come from her father, 
from whom she has run away.” 

He turned away, approached the window, and 
thrummed on the pane. 

“ I have already told you before, Herr Hummel, 
that I will not take back these gloves. Least 
of all will I do it with this object. If the 
happy day is ever to come to me when I can 
carry Ijaura to my home, it will only be when 
you put your daughter’s’ hand in mine. I beg 
you, dear Herr Hummel, to keep these gloves 
until that day.” 

“ Much obliged,” replied Hummel ; “ you are 
a miserable Don Juan. I am bound in duty,” 
he continued, in his usual tone, “ to communicate 
to you what concerns you nearly. My daughter 
Laura wishes you to elope with her.” 

“ VVliat now possesses Laura,” answered the 
Doctor, “ and has given her these wild thoughts, 
is no secret to you. She feels herself oppressed 
by the difficult relations which subsist between 
us. I hope this excitement will pass away.” 

“May I be allowed to ask the modest ques- 
tion, whether it is your intention to agree to her 
plan ?” 

“ I will not do it,” cried the Doctor. 

“ Why not ?” asked Hummel, coldly. “ I 
have no objection to it for my part.” 

“ That is one reason the more for me not to 
act inconsiderately by you, nor to be treated in 
the like manner.” 

“ I can bequeath my money to the hospital.” 


“To this remark I have only one answer,” 
replied the Doctor. “ You yourself do not be- 
lieve that this consideration influences my 


actions.” 

“Unfortunately not,” replied Hummel; “you 
are both unpractical people. So you hope that 
I will at last give you my blessing without au 
elopement 

“Yes, I do hope it,” exclaimed the Doctor. 
“ However you may represent yourself to me, I 
trust that the goodness of your heart will be 
greater than your objections.” 

“Do not count upon my indulgence, Herr 
Doctor. I do not believe that I shall ever pre- 
pare a marriage feast for you. My child gives 
herself with confidence into your hands ; lay 
hold of her.” 

“ No, Herr Hummel,” replied the Doctor, “ I 
shall not do it.” 

“Has my daughter sunk so much in value 
because she is ready to become your wife ?” 
asked Herr Hummel, bitterly, and with a rough 
voice. “ The poor girl has got some ideas into 
her head amongst her learned acquaintances, 
which do not suit the simple life of her father.” 

“ That is unjust towards us all, and also 
towards our absent friends,” cried the Doctor, 
indignantly. “What now distracts Laura is 
only a little enthusiasm ; there is still in her 
some of the childish poetry of her early girl- 
hood. He w’ho loves her may have perfect con- 
fidence in her pure soul. Onlj' in one respect 
must he maintain a firm judgment in dealing 
with her; he must here and there exercise a 
mild criticism. But I should be unwm’thy of 
the love of her pure heart if I should agree to a 
hasty proceeding, which would at a later period 
occasion her pain. Laura shall not do what is 
unworthy of her.” 

“ So this is Indian,” replied Herr Hummel ; 
“there is a spark of sound common sense in 
your Botocudens and Brahmins. Do your 
learned books also find an excuse for a daughter 
not feeling happy in the house of her parents ?’* 

“ That is your fault alone, Herr Hummel,” 
replied the Doctor. 

“ Oho !” cried Herr Hummel ; “so that’s it.” 

“Forgive me my plain speaking,” continued 
the Doctor. “ It is the fashion of Laura’s 
father to play a little the tyrant in his family, 
in spite of all his love for them. Laura has 
been accustomed from her childhood to view with 
timid alarm your strong nature ; therefore she 
does not form the impartial conception of your 
character, nor feel tlie pleasure in your mis- 
chievous humours, which may be felt by common 
acquaintance. If you had seen Laura’s trans- 
port when I made known to her wdiat you had 
done for my father, you w'ould never doubt her 
heart. Now she is overcome with anguish 
about our future. But you inay be assured, if 
Laura w^ere to give in to her fancy and separate 
herself from her parents’ house, she w^ould soon 
feel gnawing repentance and longing for her 
parents. Therefore, the man for w’hom she 


w’ould now make this sacrifice acts not only 
honourably, but also prudently, in resisting 
it.” 


Herr Hummel looked grimly at the Doctor. 

“ There is the old bear tied to a stake, the 
young puppies pull at his fur, and the cocks 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


201 


crow over his head. Tahe warning by my fate; 
avoid, under all circumstances, female posterity.” 
He put his hand upon the gloves, packed them 
up again, smoothed the paper, and shut them 
in his writing-table. “Thus shall I lock up 
again my unnatural child ; for the rest I remain 
your devoted servant. So your old Indians tell 
you that I am a droll screech-owl, and a jolly 
bon-vivant to strangers. Is that your opiuion 
of my natural propensities ?” 

“ You are not quite so innocent,” replied the 
Doctor, with a bow. “ To me you have been 
always particularly rude.” 

“ There is no oue I had rather wrangle with 
than with you,” acknowledged Herr Hummel. 

The Doctor bowed, and said : 

“ When you play with other men as with cats, 
they only bear such treatment because they per- 
ceive good, intentions under your cross-grained 
character. I can say this to you, because I am 
one of the few men ,to whom you have shown 
real dislike; and, as you are also obstinate, I 
know very well tliat I shall have still to fight 
out many a combat with you, and I am not yet 
sure how it will end between us. That, how- 
ever, does not prevent my acknowledging the 
biting kindness of your nature.” 

“ I object to any further enlightenment as to 
my real character,” exclaimed Herr Hummel. 
“ You have a disagreeable way of viewing your 
fellow-men miscroscopically. I protest against 
your painting me like a fiea in the shadow on 
the wall. As concerns your proceedings as my 
daughter’s lover, I am content with them. You 
do not choose to take my child in the way in 
which she is to be had; I thank you for 
your scruples. We are in this entirely of the 
same opinion, and you therefore shall not have 
her.” 

The Doctor wished to interrupt him, but 
Hummel waved his hand. 

“ All further speech is useless ; you renounce 
my daughter, but you preserve the esteem of 
her father, and you have besides the feeling of 
acting for the best for Laura. As you have 
such great uprightness, you may console yourself 
with it. You will devote yourself to celibacy, 
and I should envy you, if it were not for the 
consideration of Madame Hummel.” 

“ This will not avail, Herr Hummel,” replied 
the Doctor ; “I have not the least intention of 
renouncing Laura’s hand.” 

“ I understand you,” replied Herr Hummel ; 
“ you wish to loiter about the streets with my 
daughter. This quiet pletisure I can, alas ! no 
longer allow, for I am certainly of opinion that 
Laura must at some time leave my house ; and 
as you have chosen the good opinion of the father 
rather than the daughter, we will confer on this 
point with a good understanding. You are mis- 
taken if you think that my daughter Laura will 
give up her fancies upon wise admonition. Have 
you not sometimes spoken to my conscience 
also ? It was all that could be expected, con- 
sidering your age ; but it has been of no avail 
with me. It will be the same with this obsti- 
nate child. Therefore I am, as a father, of 
opinion that we must give in to a certain degree 
to the folly of my worm. Consider how far you 
can go to please us. She wishes to join the 
fessor’s wife. She shall not go to this capital 


w'here my lodger has no home, but she has been 
frequently invited to Bielstein.” 

The Doctor answered : 

“ I have pressing reasons for going to my 
friends during the next few days. I will gladly 
make a detour by Bielstein, if you will allow me 
to accompany Laura on this journey. I shall 
make no secret of this journey, — at least not to 
my parents.” 

“ This elopement is so shabby that, were I 
maiden, I should be ashamed of taking part in 
it. But one must not expect too much of you. 
I will not be at home when this departure takes 
place : you see that is natural. I have already 
made my plans concerning my child’s future. I 
give her over to you for the journey W'ith confi- 
dence.” 

“ Herr Hummel,” exclaimed the Doctor, dis- 
quieted, “ I beg for still greature confidence. 
How have you decided concerning Laura’s 
future ?” 

“ As you have determined to show me such 
respect, I beg you will be content with the con- 
fidential intimation that I have no intention of 
making you any such communication. You 
preserve my esteem, and I my daughter. My 
compact is concluded.” 

“ But the compact is not quite satisfactory to 
me, Herr Hummel,” cried the Doctor. 

“Hold your tongue. If in consequence of 
this agreement you resume your theatrical ca- 
reer, I should advise you never to act the role 
of lover. The audiencs will run out of all the 
doors. Do I treat people like cats ? — then will 
your father also, whom 1 have treated like a cat, 
soon know that I have only played with him. 
You can give him an intimation of that. My 
wife has plucked to-day some hens for my birth- 
day; if this roast should not excite painful 
feelings in you, it will give me pleasure to see 
you at dinner. You will not be under the em- 
barrassment of having to talk only to my 
daughter, for the family clown is invited : he 
will keep up the conversation — you may be 
silent. Good morning, Herr Doctor.” 

The Doctor again stretcdied out his hand to 
him. Herr Hummel shook it, grumbling all 
the while. Wlien he was again alone in his 
counting-house the melody ot the old Dessauer 
again sounded in the narrow room, now brisk 
and hearty. Then, soon after, Herr Huinmel 
broke forth with the second of the two airs 
“ the Dear Violet”— to which he had recourse 
when in an unconstrained humour. At last he 
mixed up the drumming of the Dessauer with 
“ the Violet” in an artistic medley. The book- 
keeper, who knew that this pot pourri be- 
tokened a state of the highest spring warmth, 
popped his face, smiling respecttully, into the 
counting-house. 

“ You can come to dinner to-day, said Herr 
Hummel, graciously. 


CIIAPTER XXXIV. 

Since their conversation upon the Roman 
emperors, the Prince had tor some days with- 
drawn himself from his Court. He was ill. 
His nervous excitement, as the physician do- 


202 


THE LOST MAN^USCKIPT. 


dared, was the usual consequence of a chill. 
Only a few privileged persons — among them 
Magister Knips — had access to him during this 
time, and they had no cause to rejoice in their 
confidential position, for it was difficult to deal 
with the exalted invalid. 

The Prince was sitting in his study ; before 
nim stood an old official, with a sly face, re- 
porting over the daily occurrences of the capital, 
opinions which were expressed in public jilaces 
concerning the Prince and his royal house, 
small scandalous anecdotes of families, also ob- 
servations which had been made in the palace 
to which the Princess had gone within the last 
few days, and the persons she had seen there. 
Prince Victor paid daily visits to the Baroness 
Hallstein, and passed the evening with the offi- 
cers of his former regiment; he had returned 
unexpectedly that morning. 

“ How do things go on in the Pavilion ?” 
asked the Prince. 

“According to the account of the lackey, 
there have been no visitors from the city, nor 
any letters. When the strangers were sitting, 
in the afternoon, in front of the door, the lady 
had spoken of a journey to Switzerland, but her 
husband replied that there could be no question 
of it until he had finished his business. Then 
there had been an uncomfortable silence. In 
the evening both were at the theatre.” 

The Prince nodded, and dismissed the official. 
As he sat alone, he pushed his chair against the 
wall, and listened to the ticking of a small clock 
which, from the further end of the room, was 
scarcely audible ; he hastily opened the door of 
a niche in the wall, and took out the letters 
which a confidential secretary had sent up 
through a tube in the wall from the under 
story. There were various handwritings : he 
])asscd quickly through the contents. At last 
he held in his hand a bundle of children’s let- 
ters. Again he laughed. “ So the great ball 
has already burst.” His countenance became 
serious. “ A genuine countryman, he has no 
feeling of the honour of having the top-boots of 
a. prince among h’.s fields.” He took another 
letter^ “ The Hereditary Prince to his sister. 
It is the first letter of the pious John from Pat- 
inos, saying nothing, as if it had been written 
for me. That may possibly be so. The contents 
are scanty and cold He expresses the wish that 
his sister also may pass a pleasant time in the 
country. We wish the same,” he continued, 
with good humour; “she may pluck flowers 
and talk with the learned men over the virtues 
of Roman ladies. This wish shall be fulfilled 
by all parties.” He laid the letters back in the 
niche, and pressed with his foot a spring in the 
floor; there was a sliglit rustling in the wall, 
and the packet glided down. 

The Prince raised himself from his chair and 
walked about the room. 

“ My thoughts hover restlessly aboiit this 
man. I have received him with complaisance ; 
I have even treated liis crazy hopes with the 
greatest consideration, and yet this unpractical 
dreamer mocks at me. Why is this insidious 
attack made on mo ? He did it with the ma- 
licious penetration of a diseased person, who 
knows better than a sound one what is deficient 
in another. His prating was half vague reflec- 


tion and half the silly cunning of a fiwl who 
carries about him a worm in his brain. It 
does not matter : we know one another, as the 
Augurer knows his associates. Betw'ixt us a 
family hatred burns, such as can only exist be- 
tween relations — an enduring, thorough hatred, 
which conceals itself beneath smiles and polite 
bows. Trick for trick, my Roman cousin. You 
seek a manuscript which lies concealed with me, 
but I something else, which you would "withhold 
from me.” 

He sank back in his chair, and looked timidly 
towards the door; then put his hand into a pile 
of books, and drew out a translation of Tacitus. 
He tapped the book with his finger. 

“ He who wrote this was also diseased. He 
spied incessantly into the souls of his masters; 
their pictures so filled his fancy, that the Roman 
people and the millions of other men appeai’ed 
unimportant to him : he suspected every step of 
his rulers, yet neither he nor his generation could 
do without them. He gazed at them as on suns, 
the eclipse of which he investigated, and which 
reflected their light on him, the little planet. 
He began to doubt the rational ordering of the 
world, that is to every one the beginning of the 
end. But he had wit enough to see that his 
masters became diseased through the pitifulnesa 
of those like himself, and his best policy was 
that of the old High Steward, to bear all with 
a silent obeisance.” 

He opened the leaves. 

“ Only one, whom he has included in his 
book,” he began again, “was a man, whom it 
touches one to read about. That was the dark 
majesty of Tiberius : he knew the rabble, and 
despised it, till the miserable slaves at last 
placed him among the madmen. Do you know. 
Professor Tacitus, why the great Emperor be- 
came a weak fool ? No one knows it — no one 
on earth but me, and those like me. He became 
mad because he could not cease to be a man 
with feeling. He despised many and hated 
many, and yet he could not do without the 
childish feeling of loving and trusting. A 
common youth, who had once shown him per- 
sonal devotion, laid hold of this fancy of his 
earthly life, and dragged the po^verful mind 
down with him into the dirt. A miserable 
weakness of heart made the stern politician of 
Imperial Rome into a fool. The weak feelings 
which rise up in lonely hours are the undoing of 
us all ; indestructible is this longing for a pure 
heart and a true spirit — undying the seeking 
after the ideal condition of man, M’hich is de- 
scribed by the poet and believed in by the 
pedant.” He sighed deeply ; his head sank on 
the table between his hands. 

There was a slight sound at the door. The 
Prince started up. The servant announced — 

“ The Grand Marshal von Bergau.” The Grand 
Marshal entered. 

The Pi-incess inquires at what hour your 
Highness will take leave of her.” 

“ Take leave ?” asked the Prince, reflecting. 

“ Why ?” 

“Your Highness has been pleased to order 
that the Princess shall go this morning for some 
days to her summer castle.” 

“ It i? true,” replied the Prince. “ I am well 
to-day, dear Bergau, and will breakfast with the 


203 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


ri’incess. Will it be agreeable to you to accom- 
pany her ?” he asked, kindly. 

“ I am very grateful to my gracious master 
for it,” replied the Grand Marshal, honestly. 

“ \\ hat lady has the Princess chosen as her 
attendant ?” 

“ As your Highness has given her the choice, 
she has decided upon Fraulein Gottlinde.^’ 

“ I agree to that,” said the Prince, graciously. 
“ 1 he good Gottlinde may be invited to break- 
fast, and you yourself may come also, that I 
inay see you all once more about me before the 
journey. I have one more thing to say. Herr 
W erner will follow you ; he wishes to examine 
the I’ooms and chests of the castle for his learned 
objects. Render him assistance in every way, 
and show him the greatest attention, 1 have 
also a confidential commission for you.” 

Ihe Grand Marshal made a piteous face, as if 
he intended to protest. 

“ I wish to win for us this distinguished man,” 
continued the Prince. “ Sound him as to what 
place or distinction M'ould be acceptable to him. 
1 wish you to observe that I am most anxious 
to keep him.” 

The Grand Marshal, much discomposed, an- 
swered : 

“ I assure your Highness, w’ith tlie greatest 
respect, that 1 know how to value your confi- 
ttence, yet this coimnisaion fills me with con- 
sternation ; for it exposes me to the danger of 
exciting the displeasure of my gracious master. 
I have had opportunities of remarking that 
one cannot count upon gratitude from these 
people.” 

“You must not offer him anything; only 
draw out from him some wish,” replied the 
Prince, drily. 

“ But if this wish should exceed the bounds of 
moderation ?” asked the Marshal, hesitatingly. 

“ Take care not to object to it ; leave it to 
me to decide whether I consider it immoderate. 
Send me a report immediately.” 

The Prince gave the signal of dismissal ; 
watched sharply his bow and departui-e, and saw 
him shaking his head. 

“ He is not old, and yet the curse has over- 
taken him ; he becomes grotesque. Here is 
another riddle of human nature for you, learned 
man ; that one who has every hour to control 
his countenance and manner, to whom the most 
rigid tact and correct forms are necessary in his 
daily intercourse, should, just when he becomes 
older, lose this best acquisition of his life, and 
become troublesome by his w’eak chattering 
and unrestrained egotism. You know how to 
answer. Emperor Tiberius, why your service, 
clever man, gradually made your servants cari- 
catures of your own character ? Now they have 
revenged themselves on you; it is all right. 
There is a desperate rationality in the links of 
the world. 0 misery, misery, that we should 
both have so little cause to rejoice at it.” 

He groaned, and again concealed his head in 
his hands. ^ 

Shortly after Use received a fresh letter from 
home. 

“ How can the clover leaves be lost out of a 
well-closed letter ?” she asked her husband. 
“Luise, on her birthday, found some clover 


leaves and sent them in her former letter, to 
bring you gf od fortune. The child is just at 
the age in which such nonsense gives pleasure. 
The dried clover was not in her letter, and as 
she is giddy, 1 scolded her for it in my answer. 
To-day she assures me that she put them into 
the cover the last thing.” 

“ It may have fallen out when you opened tlie 
letter,” said the Professor, consolingly. 

“My father is not contented with us,” con- 
tinued Use, discomposed ; “ he does not like the 
Prince having come into his neighbourhood ; he 
fears distraction in the farm and gossip. Why 
should people gossip ? Clara is still half a child, 
and the Prince does not live upon our property. 
There is a dark cloud over everything,” she 
said ; “ the light of the dear sun has ceased to 
shine. Nothing but disturbances, the Prince 
ill, and our Hereditary Prince vanished as if swept 
away by a storm. How could he go away witli- 
out bidding us good-bye ? I cannot be com- 
fortable about that ; for wo have not deserved 
it of him, nor of his supple Chamberlain. I fear 
he does not go willingly into the country ; and 
he is angry with me, Felix, because I said some- 
thing about it. No good will come of it, and 
it makes me heavy at heart.” 

“ If this trouble leaves you any space for the 
business of other people,” began the Professor, 
gaily, “you must allow me some portion. I 
think I have found the solitary castle which I 
have so long sought. I see from this chronicle 
that in the last century the country seat to 
which the Princess is going was surrounded by 
wood. 1 hear that in this remote place much 
old household lumber is preserved. 1 feel as in 
my childhood on the evening before my birth- 
day. 1 have made known my wishes to fate on 
a ticket, and when I think of the hour when the 
present shall come to me, I feel the same heart- 
beating expectation which scares away sleep 
from the boy. It is childish, Use,” he continued, 
holding out his hand to his wife. “ 1 know it 
is ; but have patience with me ; I have long 
wearied you with my dreams, but now it will 
come to an end. The hope indeed will not come 
to an end, but this is the last place 1 have any 
reason to search for it.” 

“ But if you again do not find the book ?” 
asked Use, sorrowfully, holding his hand fast. 

A gloomy expression came over the Pro- 
fessor’s face ; he turned short round, and said, 
harshly : 

“ Then I shall seek further, — if Fritz had but 
come.” 

“ AVas he to come ?” asked Use, with surprise. 

“ I have begged him to do so,” replied her 
husband. “ He answered that his father’s busi- 
ness and his relations with Laura prevented 
him. To him also it appears that a crisis is 
impending; he has suspicions with respect to 
the register that I found here, which 1 consider 
unfounded.” 

“ Oh, that he were with us,” cried Use ; “ I 
long for a friendly face. I feel like one who has 
been travelling the whole day through a desert 
wilderness.” 

The Professor pointed to the window. 

“ This wilderness looks tolerably humanised, 
and a visitor such as you desire seems already 
coming up to the house.” 



204 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


Use hoard the rutnhle of strange wheels 
coming along the royal grave.. A carriage 
st-oppcd before the Pavilion, and the country 
coachman cracked his whip. The servants has- 
tened to the door ; Gabriel let down the leather 
head of the carriage ; a little lady descended, 
gave a parcel to the lackey and a bandbox to 
Gabriel, and called out to the coachman to in- 
quire about putting the horses up. She hastily 
ascended the steps, and, as she did so, gazed on 
the painting and carved scrolls. 

“ This is a great pleasure, Frau Rollmaus,” 
cried Use, delighted, meeting her at the door. 

The Piofessor hastened to the stranger, and 
offered her his arm. 

“ My dear Use,” cried the little lady : “ re- 
vered Herr Professor, here I am. As Rollmaus 
has been charged with the superintendence of a 
property in the neighbourhood for his sister’s 
children, and as he has had to travel into this 
country to set things in order, and stop only a 
short time, I thought I would have the pleasure 
of paying you a visit. Your father, brothers, 
and sisters gi'eet you. Clara is growing up like 
your younger twin.” 

“ Come in, come in,” cried Use j “ you your- 
self are the best greeting from home.” 

Frau Rollmaus stopped at the door. 

“ I beg for one moment,” she said, pointing 
to the bandbox. 

“ You come to old friends.” 

“ You must allow me, however, that I may 
not disgrace this full-dress house.” 

Frau Rollmaus was taken into an adjoining 
room, the bandbox opened, and, after the best 
cap was put on, as well as white collar and cuffs, 
the learned lady floated into the sitting-room 
with Use. 

“ Splendid,” she exclaimed, looking with 
admiration at the ceiling, w;here the god of love 
held out to her his bunches of poppies. “ One 
can see at once by the cross-bow that it is a 
Cupid which one frequently sees on gingerbread 
figures, where he stands between two burning 
hearts. Revered Herr Professor, the pleasure 
of meeting again, and with such surroundings, 
is truly very great. I have long looked forw'ard 
with pleasure to this hour, when I could express 
to you my thanks for the last work you sent me, 
in which I have arrived at the time of the Re- 
formation. Rollmaus would gladly have come 
with me, but he has business to do about the 
* distillery on account of the old boiler, which 
must be taken out.” 

Hui ing this speech the eyes of Frau Rollmaus 
wandered inquisitively into every corner of the 
room. 

“ Who w'ould have thought, dear Use, that 
you and the Herr Professor w'ould have come 
into friendly relations with our royal per- 
sonages ? I must confess to you that I have 
already looked about me in driving here for 
the royal courtyard, which, however, probably 
lies on the other side, as I see only gardens 
here.” 

“ There are no offices at the castle,” explained 
Use, “ only the stable and the large kitchen.” 

“ They say there are six cooks,” cried Frau 
Rollmaus, “ w-ho are all great head-cooks ; 
although 1 do not know' for what other part of 
the human body they could be cooking. But 


the originalities at a Court are very great,— 
amongst which are the silver-cleaners, who, I 
verily believe, do not do their duty ; at least, 
the small coin in our country is very dirty, and 
a great scouring-day would be necessary for 
them. They say that the young Prince has now 
gone to the Chief Forester’s lodge. Our Chief 
Forester is fully occupied ; he grumbles over this 
royal quartering, and has ordered himself a new 
uniform.” 

She became serious and thoughtful, and there 
ensued an awkw’ard pause, during which she 
rubbed her nose, looked at Use good-humouredly, 
and pressed her hand. 

“ There appears to be a storm coming,” she 
continued, in a low' tone, “ and the country gen- 
tlemen complain that the grub in the spring has 
eaten the rapeseed. Here, indeed, it seems like 
a paradise, although I hope that no wild beasts 
rove about here, and it is not a time to pluck 
the apples from the trees with pleasure. Some- 
thing seems to have turned up in the capital 
which is very remarkable ; for as I came with 
Rollmaus to the property, the Inspector told me 
of a fortune-teller w'ho prophesied wonderful 
things of the people in this city. Do you know 
anything certain about her ?” 

“ We have few acquaintances,” answ ered Use j 
“ w’e only get news from the papers.” 

“ I should be glad to hear something about 
that person, for I have latterly begun the study 
of phrenology ; and I hear, dear Professor, that 
these investigations are much combated. I do 
not myself feel sure about them. I have 
examined the head of Rollmaus, and am sur- 
prised to see how much the organ of destruction is 
developed behind his ear, though he is annoyed 
at every cup-handle the maid servants break. 
Nevertheless, dear Professor,/ 1 find the powers 
of thought shown upon your brow. The bumps 
are very large, by which 1 do not mean to say 
that they are unbecoming to you. But to return 
to the fortune-teller. She told the Inspector 
that he was married, and had tw'o children, and 
that his wife was dead, and that he w ished to 
take another, w ho would add two more. This 
is all correct, for he is already engaged. Now', 

I ask you, how could this person know it ?” 

“ Perhaps she knows the Inspector ?” replied 
the Professor, rummaging among uis papers. 

“ I advise you not to confide in her art, and I 
do not recommend to you the study of phreno- 
logy. But now let us know how long you can 
remain w'ith us. I am obliged to go to the 
Museum, and hope to find you on my return.” 

“ I can remain some hours,” said Frau Roll- 
maus. “ I have three miles to go, but the roads 
here are better than with us. Although now 
our cJiaussee is being made, and the road com- 
missioners already go along it to the tow n of 
Rossau. Only think, dear llse, the stone bridges 
betw'cen your propei ty and the town are already 
pulled dow'n, but they have put up a temporary 
bridge. For some hours, I beg of you, for 
want of 4 better companion, to be satisfied with 
me.” 

The Professor went aw'ay ; the ladies talked 
confidentially over the family at home, during 
which Bollmaus could not entirely give up her 
scientific investigations ; for, in the middle of 
the conversation, she put her fingers on Use’s 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


205 


temples, and begged permission to feel the crown 
of her head ; whereupon she said, with much 
delight, “ There is much sincerity there, as I 
should have supposed.” She then looked sig- 
nificantly at Ilse. She was loquacious and 
hearty, but she showed a degree of restraint 
which Ilse attributed to the strangeness of the 
place. 

After Frau Rollmaus had admired the dw'el- 
ling, criticised the pictures, and felt the texture 
of the furniture coverings, Ilse pointed to the 
sun, which was breaking through the clouds, 
and proposed that they should go into the 
pleasure-grounds. Frau Rollmaus agreed w'ith 
pleasure, and Use had much to do to answ’er the 
questions of the excited lady. Then they came 
to a part of the grounds w'hich served as a pro- 
menade at this hour for the ladies and people of 
the place. “ What a surprise,” exclaimed Frau 
Rollmaus, siiddenly seizing Use’s arm, “ the 
royal livery.” At a turn of the path, the hat 
of a lackey became visible ; the Princess, accom- 
panied by Fraulein Gottlinde and Prince Victor, 
came directly towards them. Amidst the re- 
spectful greetings of the promenaders, the royal 
party approached. Ilse stepped aside, and curt- 
sied. The Princess stopped. “ We were on the 
point of seeking for you,” she began, kindly; 
“ my brother was obliged to leave suddenly ; he 
will have told your father how sorry he was that 
he could not take with him any messages from 
you to your family.” She gave a passing look 
at Frau Rollmaus, who w^as supporting herself 
with both her hands on her umbrella, bending 
her head forward, not to lose a syllable that fell 
from the lips of the royal lady. Use mentioned 
her name. 

“A kind friend from the neighbourhood of 
Rossau, w’ho is staying some days near here.” 

Frau Rollmaus ducked down very low, and, 
almost unconscious with terror, said: “It is 
only three miles from here, in Krotendorf,* 
althcugh, if I may, by your gi’acious permission, 
be graciously allow’ed to say so, there are no 
more toads there than in any other respectable 
place.” 

“ You are taking a walk,” said the Princess, 
to Use, “ will you accompany me a little way ?” 
Slie beckoned Use to her side, placing herself 
betw^een her and the lady in w aiting. Prince 
Victor remained behind with Frau Rollmaus. 

“ So toads are not fed on your property ?” 
began the Prince. 

“ No, my gracious- ,” replied Frau Roll- 

maus, embarrassed, supporting herself on her 
umbrella. “ I do not really know what is the 
right title to confer upon you.” 

“ Prince Victor,” replied the young gentle- 
man, carelessly, 

“ I beg pardon ; but this honourable name 
does not satisfy me. May I beg to know the 
other title, similar to what, in the case of pas- 
tors, would be expressed by Very Reverend ? 
For to offend royal persons w'ould not be plea- 
sant, and I am not fluent in these forms of 
address.” 

“ High and honourable lady, yon may call 
me Highness : thus we shall both have our 
rights.” 

Krote, a toad. 


“ It shall be as you command,” exch-imed 
Frau Rollmaus, delighted. 

“ You are intimate with the Professor’s wife ?” 

“ From her childhood,” explained Frau Roll- 
maus ; “ I w'as a friend of her deceased mother, 
and I can truly say that I have shared both 
happiness and sorrow' with our dear Use. 
Prince Victor, it is impossible for your High- 
ness to know' her true heart as w'ell as we do. 
Latterly, through her learned acquaintances, 
she has come into another atmosphere; but 
before her betrothal, when the torches w’ere 
burning, and her brothers and sisters w'cre 
carrying the pine branches, it was clear to mo 
that it would be a match.” 

“ Good,” said the Prince. “ Howr long do 
you remain in the neighbourhood ?” 

“ Only until the end of the week, for Roll- 
maus prefers country to the capital, w’hich is not 
to be wondered at ; he has not the inclination 
for learning by which I am inspired. For this 
there is more opportunity in the city, although 
one can also in the country make one’s observa- 
tions on heads and other natural objects.” 

“ The weather is uncertain ; is your carriage 
closed ?” interrupted the Prince. 

“ It is a britseka, with a leather head to it,” 
replied Frau Rollmaus. “ I must honestly avow 
to you that it has been quite an unexpected 
pleasure to me that this visit has given me the 
opportunity of seeing your Highness, for 1 have 
heard so much of you.” 

“ I should be very grateful to you,” replied 
the Prince, “ if you would kindly tell me what 
yoa have heard. I have hitherto believed that 
my reputation was not by any means so bad as 
it might be.” 

“No one, how'cver noble he may be, can es- 
cape calumny,” exclaimed Rollmaus, eagerly ; 
“ they talk of tricks. 1 fear your Highness will 
take it amiss if 1 mention this trash.” 

“ Tell me something of it,” replied the Prince, 
“ w’hatever it may be.” 

“ They maintain that your Highness is con- 
vivial and lives like a lively bird, and other 
things which it w'ould be unpleasant for me to 
repeat.’* 

“ Go on,” said the Prince, cheerfully. 

“That your Highness makes fools of other 
people.” 

“ That is grievous,” replied the Prince. “ Is 
your coachman a courageous man ?” 

“He is somewhat rough even with Rollmaus, 
who indulges him much.” 

“ Believe me, Frau Rollmaus,” continued the 
Prince, “ it is a sorrowful business to be a 
prince. Disquiet from morning to evening. 
Every one will have something, and no one 
brings anything except bills. Thus all gaiety 
is lost, one becomes sad, and slinks about through 
the bushes. IMy favourite recreation is a little 
quiet conversation in the evening with my good 
old nurse and instructress, the widowed Cliquot, 
and to plav a little patience with my four royal 
friends. 'I'hen one counts the good works that 
one has done during the day, sighs that they are 
so few', and looks for one’s boot-jack. M e are 
the victims of our position. If there is any- 
thing I envy the Professor’s wife it is her 
servant Gabriel, a trustworthy man, whom I 
recommend to your favourable attention.” 


206 


THE LOST MANUSCRIIH’. 


“ I know liiir. already/’ replied Frau Boll- 
maus : “ I must acknowledge that the auto- 
biography which you have given me agrees with 
all that I have discovered by the organism of 
your Highutss’s head, so far as your hat does 
not deprive one of the sight of it, which indeed 
is very much the case.” 

“ I should be thankful to my skull,” muttered 
the Prince, “ if it would lead every one to believe 
my words as easily as you do.” 

“ As long as 1 live it will be a pleasure as well 
as a souvenir to me,” continued Frau Rollmaus, 
with a walking curtsy, “ to have been brought 
by accident to this intimate intercourso with 
your Highness, the remembrance of v Inch I 
will, if I may he allowed to say so, recall to my- 
self by your Highness’s picture, wh’ch I hope 
may be had in the shops. 1 shall place myself 
before it when I am in the singular number, as 
now my son Karl does with his grammar, and 
think of past hours.” 

Prince Victor gave Frau Eollmaus a look of 
inward benevolence. 

“ 1 will never allow you to buy my portrait. 
I beg permission to send you a copy us a re- 
membrance. It is, unfortunately, not so like as 
I could wish. The painter has made me too 
large, and I am not quite content with the dress : 
it looks like a clergyman’s gown. Meanwhile I 
beg you kindly to imagine it without this super- 
fluity. Has the Crown Inspector Rollmaus good 
horses ? Docs he rear them himself ?” 

“ Always, your Highness; he is fumed for it 
among the neighbours.” 

The Prince turned with fresh interest towards 
the little lady. 

“ Perhaps one could do business with him. I 
am looking out for some strong riding horses. 
How is he to deal with ?” he asked, frankly. 

“ He is a very good economist,” replied Frau 
Rollmaus, hesitatingly, and looking at the Prince 
with secret pity. “ He is considered by his ac- 
quaintance veiy experienced in horses, and — 
and, if I may say so, is rather knowing.” 

The Prince pursed up his lips, bi'ingiug out a 
sound almost like a suppressed whistle. 

“ Then he is very unlike the highly honoured 
lady, and I shall hardly be able to do business 
with him. Would it not give the Professor’s 
wife pleasure to visit you for a few days in the 
village of toads ?” 

“ It would be the greatest pleasure to us,” ex- 
claimed Frau Rollmaus, “ but the house is empty, 
there is no establishment, and we are obliged 
to help ourselves, and the kitchen is very cold.” 

“ Then it is only as a makeshift.” 

Meanwhile Use walked by the side of the 
Princess throngh the groups of citizens making 
their obeisances, but her heart was not so light 
as that of Frau Rollmaus. The Princess spoke 
kindly to her, but upon inditterent subjects, and 
she turned frequently to the other side to her 
lady. It was clearly not her wish to enter into 
more conversation with Use than was absolutely 
necessary. Use saw clearly that it was a show' 
of favour before the world; she felt the inten- 
tion of it, and asked herself secretly why it was 
necessary, and her pride revolted at this gracious- 
ness, w Inch did not come from the heart. The 
Princess ke))t Use for some time in the most 
crowded part of the promenade. 


“ I leave the palace to-day,” said the Princess, 
“ and go for some days or w'eeks into the country ; 
perhaps I shall have the pleasure of seeing you 
, there.” 

Prince Victor took off his hat politely, but 
only said : “ The air is becoming sultry.” 

Use brooded over this little incident as she 
returned with her companion to the Pavilion. 
She answ’ered absently the animated questions 
of Frau Rollmaus, and only gave a half-look at 
the promenaders, many' of whom now took off 
their hats to her. 

Gabriel had, in honour of Frau Rollmaus, pre- 
pared some coffee, and had laid it out on a table 
in front of the door. There the ladies sat dow'n. 
Frau Rollmaus looked enchanted at the bloom- 
ing azalias, praised the cakes of the palace, and 
still more the royal personages, and chatted away 
in her best humour, whilst Use looked seriously 
down. 

“ I have seen some of the royalties, and I 
should like now' to see the fortune-teller. It is 
remarkable, dear Use, that my valuable connec- 
tion with the Herr Professor always brings in 
question the power of soothsaying. It is really 
not from inconsiderate curiosity that I wish to 
question this person. It is no object to me to 
learn about my future. I know' sufficiently how 
this w ill all be. For we live to a certain extent 
according to natural relations ; first the children 
come, then they grow' up, one becomes older, 
and if one does not die, one continues a little 
longer alive. That has never been inscrutable 
to me, and I do not know' what a person could 
discover now' for me. It would, therefore, be 
some misfortune that w'ould come to pass, and I 
do not wish to have that prophesied. I wish it 
only for the sake of instruction, to find out 
w hether such a person knows more than others. 
For in our days there are doubts about the 
pow'ers of soothsaying, and I myself have never 
had a presentiment, except once, when I had the 
toothache, and dreamt that I smoked a pipe, 
w hich took place and had a nauseous effect ; but 
this cannot be called wonderful.” 

“ Perhaps the fortune-teller knows more than 
others,” replied Use, absently, “ because she has 
somehow made herself acquainted with their 
history.” 

“ I have thought of something,” cried Frau 
Rollmaus ; “ I would ask her alxiut the silver 
soup-ladle which, in an inexplicable way, dis- 
appeared fiom the kitchen.” 

“ What will the lady give me if I tell her ?” 
asked a hollow voice. 

Frau Rollmaus started up. At the corner of 
the house stood a large woman, behind the 
flower-pots ; from her slu ulders hung a cloak, 
her head was covered with a dark handkerchief, 
from under which two flashing eyes were fixed 
upon the ladies. Frau Rollmaus seized Use’s 
arm, and cried out, terrified : “ There is the 
fortune-teller herself, dear Use. 1 beg your 
advice ; shall I ask her ?” 

The woman stepped cautiously from behind 
the plants, placed herself in front of Use, and 
raised her handkerchief. Use rose and looked 
with disgust on the sharp features of the withered 
face. 

“ The gipsy !” she exclaimed, stepping back. 

“ A tinkering woman ! ” exclaimed Fran 


207 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


Rollmaus, displeased ; “ the secret knowledge of 
such as she is connected with poultry-stealing, 
and worse things. First they steal and conceal, 
and then tell where the stolen property is.” 

The stranger did not attend to the attack of 
Frai llolhnaus. 

“\ouhave hunted my people like the foxes 
in the wood ; the frost has killed them, your 
watchers have imprisoned them, and those "that 
still live lie within walls, clinking their chains : 
I rove alone through the country. Do not think 
of what was done by the men that night, think 
only of what I predicted. Has it not come to 
pass ? You look on the stone house opposite, 
and you see how slowly he comes along the 
gravel-path, to the room in which the naked 
boys hang on the ceiling.” 

Use’s countenance changed. 

“ 1 do not understand what you mean. Only 
one thing 1 see, that you are no stranger here.” 

“Many years have my feet glided through 
the snow,” continued the gipsy, “ since 1 passed 
through the doors of these black beasts.” 

She pointed to the angels holding tulip 
wreaths. 

“Now disease has come upon me.” 

She stretched out her hand. 

“ Give alms to the sick woman of the high 
road, who once went on the same path that you 
ai’e now treading.” 

The colour rose in Use’s cheeks ; she gazed 
fixedly on the beggar woman, and shook her 
head. 

“It is not money that I want from you,” con- 
tinued the gipsy. “ Entreat the spirit of this 
house for me, if he should appear to you. I am 
weary, and seek rest for my head. Tell him that 
the stranger on which he hung this token,” she 
pointed to her neck, “ begs for his help.” 

Use stood motionless ; her cheeks glowed, and 
her eyes flashed angrily on the woman. 

“ What will you give to find your silver 
again ?” asked the beggar, in an altered tone, 
turning to Frau Kollmaus. 

“ So you are the fortune-teller ?” said Frau 
Rollmaus, angrily, “ and not a kreuzer will 1 
give you. Any one who examined your head 
would discover a fine organism there. I have 
often heard such gibberish. Away with you 
before the police come. One of your people pro- 
phesied to my head maid that she would marry 
a landed propi'ietor, and I was obliged to dismiss 
her, though she has been very useful, because she 
began to attack even Kollmaus himself, although 
he only laughed at her. Go, we will have nothing 
S’ to do with you.” 

“ Think of my request,” cried the stranger, to 
Use. “ 1 come again.” 

, The gipsy turned away and disappeared 
■ behind the house. 

- “ They are scamps,” cried Rollmaus, deeply 
irritated. “ Believe nothing of what they say 
to you. This one talks worse nonsense than the 
others. I believe, dear Use, you take to heart 
what this beggar dancer has said.” 

“ She knows this house, she knows well what 
■he says,” replied Use, faintly. 

“Naturally,” exclaimed Frau Rollmaus; “they 
rove about and peep through all the crevices, 
they have a good memory for other people’s 
business, but do not remember their own thievish 


tricks. I have great suspicions of her with 
respect to my soup-ladle. If this is the famous 
fortune-teller, it sickens me of making any fur- 
ther inquiries. Ah ! and you also, I see.” 

“ 1 know the woman,” replied Use ; “ she be- 
longs to the band who stole our children, and 
wounded the arm of my Felix. Noav the dread- 
tul figiire comes before me like a spirit, and her 
dark words excite horror in me. She threatens 
to come again, and terror seizes me lest this 
woman should once more come upon me unaw'ares. 

I must away from here.” 

Use hastened into the house, Frau Rollmaus 
followed her, and said, kindly : 

“ If she comes again, she shall bes^^^ent away. 
The best way of dealing with these prognos- 
ticators is to imprison them with bread and 
water.” 

Use stood in the sitting-room, looking timidly 
about her. 

“ He who hung the cross upon her was the 
master of this castle ; and when she spoke those 
wild words to me at the farmyard -gate, she did 
not mean my Felix.” 

“ She meant eight groschens, and nothing 
more,” said Rollmaus, consolingly. 

“ How dare she compare my life w'ith hers ? 
How does she know' whether the lord of this 
house attends to my words.” 

Frau Rollmaus endeavoured in vain to tran- 
quillise her, by sensible observations upon the 
w’orthlessness of these female vagabonds. Use 
looked down, with her hands folded, and the 
consolatory speeches of her worthy friend died 
aw'ay on her ear. 

Strange voices were heard in the house ; 
Gabriel opened the door, and announced the lu- 
tendant. The old man entered the room excited, 
and begged to be excused the interruption. 

“ My most gracious master has commanded 
me to inquire whether a strolling woman has 
been begging here. She has slipped into the 
castle, obtained access to the Princess, and 
frightened her, just when her Highness wa? de- 
parting for the country. His Highness wishes 
to w arn you against the stranger — she is a dan- 
gerous person,” 

“ She was here,” replied Use, “ and talked 
w'ildly ; she showed that she knew the house.” 

The lutendant looked disturbed, as he con- 
tinued ; 

“ A long time ago, her Highness the deceased 
Pi-incess took compassion once on a gijjsy girl, • 
whose mother had died on the high road. She 
had the creature instructed, and, as she was 
amusing, and seemed to promise well, she was 
at last taken into the castle and employed in 
small services; but she has badly repaid the 
royal family. At a time when they were in 
heavy afliiction, this person fell back into the 
habits of her childhood ; she took to stealing, 
and disappeared. To-day, one of the servants 
reci^nised the maiden ih this strange woman. 
His Highness w as informed of this by his vale*' 
and the gracious Prince, who, independent of 
this, is sutfering, w'as much excited hy it. Search 
is being made through all the streets and roads 
for the stranger.” 

The old man took leave. Use looked gloomily 
after him ; but she said with more composure to 
Frau Rollmaus ; 


208 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


“ 11/is accounts for the language of the stroller, 
which sounded diflerent to that of begging people 
in general, and it accounts for her wish to receive 
the pai-don of the Prince.” 

Put now Frau Rollmaus in her turn became 
depressed and sad. 

“ Ah, dear Use ! if the witch has really lived 
here among royal persons, she may know many 
things that have happened in this house ; for 
people speak no good of it, and they say that in 
former times royal loves lived here. The house 
cannot help that, and we are not altered by it ; 
it is only because the Hereditary Prince has 
gone to your father, and you knew him at the 
University, that people shake their heads at it ; 
it is stupid gossip.” 

“ What gossip ?” exclaimed Use, in a hoarse 
voice, seizing the hand of Frau Eollmaus. 

“They say that you are the cause of the 
Prince coming into our country. We should all 
rejoice if you were to visit your father before 
your journey, as had been settled ; but I believe 
really, as long as the Prince is there, it would be 
better for you to remain here, or anywhere else. 
It is only caution,” she continued, soothingly, 
•‘and you must not take it to heart.” 

Use stood, silent and motionless ; Frau Eoll- 
maus continuing her comforting words, but Use 
scarcely seemed conscious of them. 

It is not safe, Frau Use, to teach young 
princes to use agricultural machines, and to 
tight duels ; the lesson money will be paid you 
doubly, and in new coin, as is the custom of 
the Court. 

There was a long and uneasy silence in the 
room. Use looked wildly round ; then she took 
a cane chair, and placed herself opposite to Frau 
Eollmaus, and her fingers flew over her work. 
“ Do not let us talk any more of siach calumnies,” 
she said. “ What is your son Karl doing ? are 
you satisfied with his diligence ? and how does 
it go on with the pianoforte ? It would be a 
good thing for him to understand something of 
music.” 

Frau Eollmaus recovered her spirits talking 
over the dances which her son Karl played; she 
chattered on, and Use listened silently, counting 
over the stitches in her coloured wool-work. 

The Professor returned, and shortly after the 
carriage drove up. Frau Eollmaus disappeared 
into the next room to pack up her head-dress in 
the band -box, and then took an eloquent leave 
of her dear Herr Professor. Her last words to 
Use were : 

“ It may be long before we meet again ; pre- 
serve your friendship for me even though I am 
far from you.” 

“ What is the meaning of these solemn part- 
ing words of our neighbour ?” asked the Profes- 
sor, astonished. 

“ They mean that we are in a house, to be 
within the walls of which fills an honest woman 
with horror,” cried Use, with flashing eyes; 
“ and they mean that I will go away from here, 
and that it is time for you to take away your 
wife from an unsound life.” 

She told him breathlessly what Frau Eoll- 
maus hud grieved over, and what the beercrar had 
suggested. 

“ 1 am ensnared, Felix,” she exclaimed, “ by 
my own fault ; I tell it you with sorrow. God 


knows that in my conduct to the young Pi-ince 
I had no thought of bringing your wife info 
disrepute, but I have been incautious, and I am 
atoning for it horribly, horribly ! Now I under- 
stand the forebodings which have tormented me 
for some weeks past. If you love me, take me 
away quickly from here, the ground burns under 
my feet.” 

The Professor also felt a sharp pang as he saw 
his wife struggling with a sorrow, bitter enough 
to stun the strongest soul of woman, and to 
crush the noblest powers for years. ^ 

“ It is as repugnant and humiliating to me as 
to you to see wickedness in its naked aspect. I 
am ready to do all that I can to deliver you 
from this trouble. Let us calmly consider how 
this can be done. You cannot, in such a state 
of passionate feeling, decide as would become 
you, for your judgment is not unbiassed enough 
to choose your own course. To what old house 
do not painful recollections attach ? Even he 
who lives on uniformly in his usual circle cannot 
be free from idle gossip. Turn away your 
thoughts from that common woman. It would 
not become either you or me to depart like 
fugitives on her account. What have we done. 
Use, to lose our self respect ? There is only one 
wise method of dealing with the evil work of 
foolish and perverse accidents, to go forward 
firmly and to care little for it. Then the 
dissonance will pass away and perish of itself 
in the noise of daily life. Those who allow 
themselves to be disturbed by it, increase it by 
their own sorrow. Suppose that we were to 
leave this house suddenly, you would carry with 
you the feeling of having left this as one who 
has been overpowered, and you would be inces- 
santly pursued by the consciousness of a discor- 
dant murmur behind us which could not be 
silenced.” 

“ You speak very coldly and sensibly,** ex- 
claimed Use, deeply irritated ; “ in spite of what 
you say, you feel little the injury to your wife.** 

“ If you had that self-possession which I once 
so much admired in you, you would not allow 
such unjust complaints to pass your lips,** 
replied her husband, gloomily. “ You ought to 
know that if I saw you in danger, I would this 
very hour take you away. Hut even against the 
gossip of the weak, this residence is the best 
defence, for the Prince is away and you remain 
behind with your husband.** 

“ I know from what this indiflference comes,** 
murm tired Use. 

“ You do not know what enchains me here,** 
exclaimed the Professor, “and if you were 
to me what you ought to be, the sharer 
of my hopes, and if you had the same 
feeling for the value of the treasure which I 
seek, you would, like me, feel that I should not 
needlessly turn away. Hear with this residence, 
dear Use, however irksome it may appear to you,’* 
he continued, encouragingly, “ the longest period 
is past. I am invited to search in the countrj 
house of the Princess : there I anticipate that 1 
shall find what will set us free.” 

“ Do not go,” cried Use, approaching him ; 
“ do not leave me alone in this suspicious royal 
house, in a terror that makes me shudder at 
myself and every strange noise that I hear in 
these rooms.” 


209 


THE PRINCESS’S TOWER. 


^ TeiTor, oxclaiined the Professor, displeased, 
terror of spirits. Seldom is life among’ stnin- 
gers so easy and comfortable as this residence is 
to us ; thei’e may he discords everywhere, and it 
IS our own fault if we allow them to master us.” 

“ Do not go,” cried Use again. “ Yes, there 
are spirits that pursue me, they hang day and 
night above my head. Do not go, Felix/’ she 
cried out, raising her hand; “it is not the 
manuscript alone that allures you, but the woman 
who awaits you there. This I have known ever 
since we^ first came to this town. 1 see how 
the magic of her volatile soul ensnares you. I 
have until to-day sti'uggled against this fear, 
from the confidence that I had in my loved 
husband.^ If you go now, Felix, when I would 
like to cling to you, when I seek every moment 
for comfort from your voice, I shall begin to 
doubt you and to have the fearful thought that 
my trouble is indifferent to you because you 
have become cold to me.” 

“ What has come to you. Use ?” cried the 
learned man, horrified ; “ is it my wife that 
speaks thus ? when have I ever concealed my 
feelings from you ? and can you not read in my 
soul as in an open book ? Then was it this that 
lay so heavy on your mind ? Just what I should 
not have considered possible,” he said, frankly 
and sorrowfully. 

“ No, no,” cried Use, beside herself ; “ I am 
un just, I know it ; do not attend to my words. 
I trust you ; I cling to you. Oh ! Felix, I shall 
be driven to despair if this support breaks under 
me.” 

She threw her arms round his neck, and 
sobbed.) Her husband embraced her, and tears 
came into his eyes at the grief of his wife. 

“ Remain with me, my Felix,” continued Use, 
M'eeping. “ Do not leave me alone just now. 
I have still a childish, simple heai't. Have 
patience with me. 1 have been sick at heart 
here; I do not know why. I rest on your heart, 
and I tremble lest you should be alienated from 
me. I know that you are mine, and I struggle 
with the fearful foreboding that I shall lose you 
here. When you go out of the house, it seems 
to me as if I must take an eternal farewell, and 
when you return, I look doubtfully at you, as if 
you had changed towards me in a few hours. I 
am unhappy, Felix, and unhappiness makes one 
distrustful. I have become weak and faint- 
hearted, and I am afraid of telling you, because 
I fear that you will on that account value me 
less. Remain here, my beloved ; do not go to 
the Princess — at least, not to-morrow.” 

Her husband laid his hand on her head, and 
looked at her tearful eyes. 

“ If not to-morrow,” he said, cheerfully, “then 
not the next day, or the day after. I cannot 
forego this short journey. To give it up would 
be a wrong that we must not take upon our- 
selves. The longer I delay. Use, the longer you 
will be kept within these walls. Even from 
your point of view, is it not prudent to do 
quickly what would make us free ?” 

Use released herself from his embrace. 

“ You speak sensibly at a moment when I had 
hoped for a far different tone from your heart,” 
she said, quietly. “ I know, Felix, that you do 
not wish to give me pain, and I hope that you 
are true in what vou now say, and conceal 
14 


nothing from me. But I feel in the depth of 
my heart an old pang that has come over me in 
sorrowful days since I have known you. You 
think differently from me, and you feel differ- 
ently in many things. The individual and his 
sufferings signify little to you in comparison to 
the great thoughts that you bear about with 
you. You stand on a height, in a clear atmo- 
sphere, and have no sympathy with the anguish 
and trouble in the valley at your feet. Clear is 
the air, but cold, and it freezes me.” 

“ It is the nature of men,” said the Professor, 
more deeply moved by the restrained grief of 
his wife than by her loud complaints. 

“No,” answered Use, gazing fixedly before 
her, “ it is only the nature of learned men.” 

In the night, when the learned man had been 
long sleeping, his wife rose by his side and gazed, 
in the subdued light, on the countenance of her 
loved husband. She got up, and held the night- 
lamp so that the yellow light fell on his peaceful 
countenance, and large tears dropped from her 
eyes on his head. Then she placed herself before 
him, wringing her hands, and striving to restrain 
the weeping and convulsions which shook her 
body. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

When the Princess, at the urgent desire of 
her father, had returned home, the illustrious 
family whose name she now bore made it a 
condition, not only that she should pass some 
months of the year at the residence of her de- 
ceased husband, but that she should have a 
special Court establishment arranged for her in 
her father’s capital. A compact to this effect 
was concluded, the object of which was un- 
doubtedly to secure to the young Princess a 
certain degree of independence. In order to 
fulfil the agreement in appearance, a royal castle 
in the country was assigned to the Princess for a 
dwelling, as in the capital there was no building 
adapted for the purpose. The castle was half a 
day’s journey from the city, at the foot of a 
woody hill, surrounded by fields and villages — a 
pleasant summer residence. The Princess had 
already spent some of the months of her mourn- 
ing there. • 

It was a warm day on which the Professor set 
off to go to the castle. The air had not yet be- 
come cool after the storm of the night. There 
were ffeeting shadows and bright sunshine on 
the sky and earth ; the thick clouds sometimes 
cast a grey covering over the straight road along 
which the learned man passed ; but then again 
it lay before him like a golden path, leading to 
the longed-for goal. 

Thus did dazzling light and dark shadows flit 
through the soul of our learned man. “ The 
manuscript will be found ; it is concealed from 
us,” he said within himself, and his brow be- 
came clouded. “If it should not be found, 
many will read with astonishment how decep- 
tive appearances were, how near the possibility. 
Many will resign with regret the hope which 
the words of the Brother had inspired, yet none 
will feel this regret as much as I shall. A 
thought which has for years occupied my fancy. 


210 


THE LOST MANUSCRIl^. 


and directed mr eyes to one object, lias gained 
the mastery over me. The free spirit of man 
plays with the thousand impressions of ancient 
and modern times : he restrains their power by 
the balance of reason and strength of will. But 
with me a small image of the faded characters 
of an old book has penetrated so deeply into my 
soul that the hope of obtaining it makes the 
blood course through my veins, and the fear of 
losing it paralyses my energies. I know that 
my eagerness is too great ; it has hardened me 
against the childish anguish of my wife, and I 
myself am not stronger since I have trodden the 
uncertain path of the deerstalker. Every one 
should be on his guard lest his dreams should 
diminish the sovereignty of his mind. Even 
the dreams of the best hours, when a soul inno- 
cently devotes itself to a great feeling, may turn 
a man away from the sti'aight path of the duties 
that lies nearest to him.” 

A golden light broke over his countenance. 
“ But if it is found. It is only a small portion 
of our knowledge of the ancient time which lies 
concealed in it. And yet it is just this discovery 
which will pour a flood of light upon the present 
twilight of the landscape, and some decades of 
ancient life will become visible to our eyes with 
as distinct an outline as if they lay in a nearer 
past. The discovery would 'solve a hundred 
doubts, and excite a thousand new ones. Every 
later generation would rejoice in the great gain, 
and would seek, with revived energ}^ for new 
disclosures. Even for her, who at the castle 
shares so warm-heartedl}' in my anxieties, 1 wish 
the pleasure of this discovery. To her also it 
would be for ever a great i-emembrance, that she 
had taken a benevolent interest in the first 
labours of the seekers.” 

Higher rose the mountains and more brilliant 
became the i-olouring of their masses. The line 
of hills in the foi*eground separated itself from 
the misty distance ; blue glimpses of the valley 
were visible through the openings of the dark 
wood. The carriage rolled through a well-pre- 
served forest ; a thick growth of firs and pines 
shut out the prospect for a time; M'hen the road 
led again into the open, through grassy meadows 
and clumps of trees, • the castle lay straight 
before the eyes of the learned man. A massive 
tower crowned with pinnacles rose out of a low 
thicket ; the afternoon suu shone above, its rays 
forming long streaks in the vaporous atmosphere. 
The brown walls stood out in the lonely land- 
scape, like the last pillar of a ruined giant’s nold; 
only by the fresh-looking stone mullions of the 
well- fitted windows did one perceive that it was 
a habitable abode. Joining on to the tower rose 
the small dwelling, with steeply-sloped roof and 
pointed windows ; in its moderate dimensions it 
formed a strange contrast to its massive com- 
panion ,* but in spite of the disproportion of the 
parts the whole formed a stately relic of the 
middle ages. One could well see that its walls 
bad alforded shelter and defence to many genera- 
tions. 

The tendrils of the wild vine twined up to the 
roof of the house and round the windows of the 
tower, which rose in seven storeys, supported by 
strong buttresses. Thyme and grass grew above 
in the crevices of the crumbling stone, but the 
'^rass which a few days ago had covered the 


' ground had been pulled up, and the court and 
doors festively adorned for the new dweller. 
Banks of flowers and plants in pots were placed 
around in profusion. There was only one corner 
in which the hasty work had not been finished, 
and the remains of mossy green on the gi'ound, 
and a swarm of blackbirds that fluttered round 
the tower, showed that the building had stood 
uninhabited in a lonely country. 

The Professor sprang out of the carriage, the 
Marshal nodded to him from the balustrade, and 
led him himself into the simple guest-chamber. 
Shortly after he conducted him through a vaulted 
passage of the castle to the tower. The Prin- 
cess, who had just returned from a walk, was 
standing, with her summer hat in her hand, at 
the entrance of the tower. 

“ Welcome to my solitude,” she said ; “ happy 
is the hour in which the old house opens its 
doors to you. Here you stand at the entrance 
of my realm. 1 have settled myself in almost 
every part of the tower; it is our female fortress. 
When these solid oak doors are closed we ladies 
can found an Amazonian kingdom, and without 
danger fling fir-cones upon the whole male world, 
for this is the fruit that flourishes best here. 
Come, Herr Werner, I will take you to the place 
a here your thoughts linger more than with us 
children of the present.” 

A winding stone staircase connected the 
storeys of the tower, each of which contained 
one bed-room and boudoir; the highest was a 
loft. The Princess pointed mysteriously to the 
staircase. 

“ Above there, under the platform, the whole 
space is filled up with old household furniture. 

I could not restrain my curiosity, so yesterday 
1 took one look into the room ; the things lie 
heaped up in wild confusion ; we shall have 
much work.” 

The Professor looked with pleasure at the 
a'ell-preserved stone work ot the arched doois 
and the artistic work of the old castle. Little 
had been done in modern times to make the 
walls look respectable or to repair damage ; but 
any one who took an interest in the chisel and 
carving tools of the old builders, might perceive 
everywhere with pleasure that the tower might 
easily be made into a masterpiece of ancient 
style. 

The servant opened the door into the Prin- 
cess’s rooms. These also were simply arranged. 
The broken painted glass of the small window 
had been repaired with panes coarsely painted ; ' 
only fragments of the old still adhered to the 
lead. 

“ There is still much to be done here,” ex- 
plained the Princess ; “ it must be done gi*adu- 
ally.” 

The keys of the Castellan clattered in the 
anteroom, and the Professor turned towards the 
door. 

“ One moment’s patience,” cried the Princess, 
and she flew into the next room, and returned 
in a grey cloak with a hood, which enveloped 
her in its folds, only the delicate face, the 
large beaming eyes, and smiling mouth being 
visible. 

“ It is OTily in this gnome dress that I venture 
to approach the dusty spiiats of the loft. 

They ascended to the highest story. Whilst 


THE PRINCESS’S TOWER. 


211 


the Castellan was picking out the key from the 
h\inch, the Professor eagerly examined the door, 
and remarked, “ Beautiful work.” 

“ I have hopes,” said the Princess. 

“ Everything looks hopeful,” replied the 
learned man. 

The solid door creaked on its hinges, and a 
large room presented itself to the eyes of the 
searchers. A bright light shone through the 
narrow openings in the wall ; in the mysterious 
place the atoms of dust were seen whirling in 
the straight rays, and all about was dusky dark- 
ness. Old furniture was here piled up and lying 
iu coni'usion; gigantic wardrobes with broken 
doors, heavy tables with balls for feet, chairs 
with straight backs atal leather cushions, from 
which the horsehair bristled out ; together with 
fragments of old weapons, halberds, corroded 
greaves, and rusty helmets. All kinds of things 
showed themselves indistinctly, heaped together 
in confusion : legs of chairs, flat pieces of wood 
with inlaid work, and hoops of old iron. It was 
a complication of frippery and artistic forms of 
many centuries. One’s hand touched the table 
at which a contemporary of Luther had sat; 
one’s foot pushed against a chest which had 
been broken open by Croats and Swedes ; or 
against the white lacquered chair, with moth- 
eaten velvet cushions, on which a Court lady 
had once sat, in a hoop dress, with powdered 
liair. Now they all lay together in desolate 
heaps, the cast-off husks of former generations, 
half destroyed and quite forgotten ; empty shells, 
from whiclj the butterflies had flown. All w ere 
covered with a grey shroud of dust — the last 
ashes of vanished life. What once had form 
and body, now, crushed into powder, whirled 
about in the air; clouds of dust opposed the 
entrance of those who came to disturb its pos- 
session ; it hung to the hair and clothes of the 
living beings, and glided slowly through the 
open door to the rooms, where varied colours 
and brilliant ornament surrounded the inmates, 
in order there to carry on the endless struggle of 
the past with the present — the quiet struggle 
that is daily renewed in great things as in little, 
which makes new things old, and finally dis- 
solves the old in order that it may help to 
nourish the germ of youthful life. 

The Professor looked like a falcon amidst the 
legs of tables and chairs in the dusky back- 
ground. 

“ Some things have lately been removed from 
here,” he said ; “ there has been some sweeping 
amongst the furniture in the front.” 

“ 1, yesterday, endeavoured to clean a little,” 
said the Castellan, “because your Highness ex- 
pressed a wish to enter here ; but we have not 
gone far.” 

“ Have you ever formerly examined the lum- 
ber in this room ?” asked the Professor. 

“ No,” replied the man. “ 1 was only placed 
here last year by his Highness the Prince.” 

“ Is there any catalogue of the things ?” said 
the Professor. 

'J'he man said there was not. 

“ Do you know if there are any chests or 
trunks here ?” 

“ I think I have observed something of the 
kind,” replied the Castellan. 

“ Fetch the workmen to move the things,” 


ordered the Princess. “To-day eveiy part of 
this loft shall be examined.” 

The Castellan hastened dowm. The Professor 
endeavoured again to peep among the piled-up 
masses, but the dazzling light from above blinded 
his eyes. He looked at the royal child ; she w’as 
standing in a light dress at the door, like the 
fairy of the castle, who has ascended into the 
dwelling of the grey-bearded epirits of the house 
in order to accept their homage. 

“ It will be a long w’ork, and your Highness 
will not like the dragging about of the dusty 
furniture.” 

“ I will remain with you,” exclaimed the 
Princess; “however contemptibly small may be 
my share in the discovery, 1 will not give it up.” 

Both were silent. The learned man moved 
about impatiently among the chairs. Moths 
fluttered in the clouds of dust, and a browm 
martin flew out from the nest which it had 
built in a corner of the window'. All was still ; 
there w’as no sound but a slight regular tapping, 
like a pendulum striking tlie hour, in the deso- 
late room. 

“That is the death-watch,” whispered the 
Princess. 

“ The w’ood-tick does its Avork in the service 
of nature, it dissolves what is decayed into its 
elements.” 

The sound ceased, but after a time began to 
tick again, then a second; they tapped and 
gnawed incessantly, dowui, dow'ii, and further 
down ! Over the heads of the seekers the daws 
croaked, and further ofi' the song of the night- 
ingale sounded softly on the labour of the 
grave-diggers. 

The w orkmen came ; they brought one article 
after another to the front of the room, 'riiicker 
rose the discolouring dust ; the Princess took 
refu^ iu the anteroom, but *he Professor did 
not leave his post. He worked hard himself, 
raising and arranging things in the trout row. 
He went back for a moment to the door to take 
breath, the Princess received him laughing. 

“ You look us if you also had been kept in this 
room till this resurrection, and I do not think 1 
look much better.” 

“ 1 see a trunk,” said the Professor, and has- 
tened back. Another confused medley of chairs’ 
legs and backs were lifted away, and the work- 
men laid hold of a little chest which stood in 
the dark. “ Set it down,” cried the Castellan, 
w ho quickly passed a large brush over it. It w as 
carried to the light, and appeared to be a trunk of 
pine wood with an arched top ; the oil colour ot 
the paint had disappeared in many places. 1 here 
were iron clamps at the corners, and a rusty key 
that held fast the staple of the lock, but hung 
loosely in the Avood. On the cover of the chest, 
which Avas dusty and worn, a black Q Avas visi- 
ble. The Professor had the chest put at the feet 
of the Princess. He pointed to the cipher. 

“ This is probably one of the chests that the 
official of Rossau sent to the castle Solitude,” 
he said, Avith assumed composure, but his voice 
trembled. 

The Princess knelt doAvn and endeavoured to 
raise the cover, the lock broke away from the 
Avood, and the chest opened. 

Above lay a thick book, bound in parchment. 
Quickly the Professor pounced upon it, like a 


212 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


lion on his prey, but he laid it down again im- 
mediately. It was an old jnissal, written on 
parchment, the cover damaged and torn, the layers 
of parchment hung loosely in the book. He put 
his hand again into the chest, a torn hunting 
net filled the remaining space ; besides that some 
damaged cross-bows, a bundle of arrows, and 
small iron-work. He raised himself, his cheeks 
were pale, his eyes glowed. 

“ This is No. 2, where is No. 1,” he exclaimed. 
He sprang back into the room, the Princess fol- 
lowed. “ Forward, men,” he cried out, “ fetch 
the other trunk.” 

The men continued their work. 

“ There is something here,” cried one of the 
workmen ; the Professor hastened to the spot, 
raised and di*ew it out, it was only an empty 
chest. 

The work went on. The Marshal also had been 
brought here by curiosity ; he viewed eagerly 
the old furniture, and caused those pieces to be 
placed together, which, according to his idea, 
might be mended and used in the castle. The 
staircase was filled with household goods, and 
one of the servants’ rooms was opened that the 
old things might be deposited in it. An hour 
had passed, the room became more empty, the 
sun was sinking, its rays reflected the image of 
the opening in the wall on the opposite side ; the 
other chest was not to be found. 

“ Take all out,” cried the Professor, “ even to 
the last piece of wood.” 

A heap of old lances, broken glasses, and 
pottery were fetched out of the corner, also 
broken legs of tables, split pieces of veneered 
wood, and in the corner a gi-eat pewter tankard : 
— the space was clear. On the floor lay gnawed 
])ieces on which the death-watch had already 
done its work. 

The Professor entered the door again. 

“ This room is cleared,” he said, with forced 
composure, to the Castellan. “ Open the next 
room.” 

“ I do not believe that you will find anything 
in it,” replied the weary man. “ There are only 
old shelves and stoves there that formerly stood 
in the castle.” 

“ Let us go in,” said the Professor. 

The Castellan opened the door hesitatingly ; 
a second room, still larger and still less inviting, 
came to view ; sooty earthen pans, bricks, and 
slabs of slate, lay mountains high at the en- 
trance, and over these were wooden tools that 
probably had been used in the last repairs of the 
castle.” 

“ I am glad to see this,” cried the Marshal ; 
“such a load on the upper story is UTong. 
This lumber must be taken entirely away from 
the tower.” 

The Professor had ascended a hill of slate slabs, 
and was seeking in the darkness for another trunk, 
but the chaos was again too great. 

“ I would have it cleared out immediately,” 
said the Marshal, consolingly, “ but it may last 
a long time ; we shall hardly come to an end to- 
flay.” 

The Professor looked imploringly at the Prin- 
cess. 

“ Get more people,” she cried out. 

“ Even with that the last daylight will dis- 
appetir,” replied the Marshal, prudently. “ We 


see how far we have got. At all events the Herr 
Professor may to-morrow in good time find tha 
entrance prepared.” 

“ Meanwhile let las shake the dust from our 
clothes,” said the Princess, “ and come into my 
library; it lies just under us, you can there 
overlook the work of the people who are clear- 
ing away. The chest shall be conveyed into 
my library. I will take it with me, and shall 
expect you.” 

Two men carried No. 2 into the library, and 
the Professor went unwillingly to his room to 
dress. 

The Princess walked about the room where 
the old chest had been placed, expecting the 
learned man. It was not with a free heart that 
she looked at this arrival ; she concealed in her 
soul a wish and a commission. The Prince had 
taken leave of her this time with more kindness 
than he had done for years ; on the breaking up 
of the party, he had led her into a side room 
and spoken to her about Werner. 

“ You know that one cannot leave too much to 
honest Bergau ; I should be glad if you will also 
do your best to keep the learned man with us. 

I have got accustomed to him in this short time 
and would unwillingly miss his enlivening so- 
ciety. But I do not think of myself alone. 

I am becoming old, and such a man would be of 
the greatest value to your brother for his whole 
life — a man in full vigour, who is always col- 
lected and calm in the midst of our distracting 
doings: I therefore wish this intimacy to be 
preserved and increased for you both : for you 
also, Sidonie. I have seen with especial satis- 
faction how warm is the feeling with which you 
enter into the studies of our learned man. Your 
mind will not be sufficiently interested with the 
twittering of the polite birds who surround us ; 
some assistance from a talented person will open 
to you a nobler conception of the world. Endea- 
vour to gain this man: every kind of burdensome 
duty shall be spared to him; what now makes 
his position uncertain shall be removed as soon 
as he is installed with us. I do not insist upon 
your speaking to him, I only wish it; and I 
wish you to believe that in this also I am 
thinking for your future.” 

Without doubt this was the case. 

The Princess had quietly listened to and 
criticised the words of her father, as was wont 
on both sides between these near relations. But 
the subtle tones of the Prince on this occasion 
met with such an echo in her soul, that she ex- 
pressed her willingness to speak to Herr Werner. 

“ If you undertake this,” the Prince said, in 
conclusion, “ you must not do it by halves. 
Employ all the mild influence that you can 
exercise over him, obtain his firm word and pro- 
mise for whatever he is inclined to accede to.” 

The Princess now thought over these words 
with disquietude. Ah ! she would gladly have 
conveyed to the heart of this much valued man 
the wishe^ of her own, but she felt annoyed that 
her secret feelings should be made subservient to 
the will of another. 

The Professor entered the library of the Prin- 
cess ; he gave a fleeting glance at the casts and 
books which were lying about, just unpacked 
and unarranged, and began : 

“ \N’hen one’s hopes have been so much raised, 


THE PEINCESS’S TOWER. 


213 


it IS tflfficult to boar suspense. One cannot help 
hiuglnng over the mocking accident which 
brings us in contact witli one Brother whose 

ork is of no value, and withholds from us that 
of the other which is of immesisurable im- 
portance.” 

The Princess pointed with her hand to the 
door outside were heard the steps of people 
carrying something. 

“ Only have a little patience ; if there is 
nothing more to-day there may be to-morrow.’^ 

“ 1 o-morrow ! ” exclaimed the Professor ; “ a 
whole night lies between. Meanwhile the worm 
gnaws incessantly, and all the powers of destruc- 
tion are at work. Numberless are the possibili- 
ties which may cut off our hopes : the acquisition 
is only certain when we hold it in our hands.^^ 

He examined the chest. 

“ It is much less than I imagined. By what 
accident did the missal lie in it ? It is not even 
certain when it came, and it is still very doubt- 
ful what may lie concealed in the other chest.” 

The Princess raised the top. 

“ Let us meanwhile pay attention to the little 
we have found.” 

She took up the parchment volume, and put 
it in the hands of the learned man. Some leaves 
slipped out ; the Pi’ofessor caught hold of them ; 
his eyes contracted, and he jumped up and ap- 
proached the window. 

“ These leaves do not belong to it,” he said, 
reading them. At last he exclaimed : “ A piece 
of the manuscript is found.” 

He held out the leaves to the Princess ; his 
hand trembled, and the agitation of his counte- 
nance M’as such that he was obliged to turn 
away. He hastened to the table and searched 
the missal, opening it leaf by leaf, from begin- 
ning to end. The Princess held the leaves in 
her hand in eager expectation, and approached 
him. As he looked up, he saw two large eyes 
fixed on him with tender sympathy. Again he 
seized the two leaves. 

“ What I have here,” cried he, “ is both 
valuable and discouraging ; one could almost 
weep that it is not more j it is a fragment out 
of the sixth book of the annals of Tacitus, that 
we already possess in another manuscript. These 
are two leaves of a parchment volume, but be- 
tween them many are lost. The writing is well- 
preserved — better than 1 should have expected. 
It is written by a German, in the characters of 
the twelfth century.” 

He looked quickly over the contents in the 
light of the setting sun. The Princess glanced 
over his shoulder curiously at the thick letters 
of the monk’s hand. 

“ It is right,” he proceeded, more calmly, 
“ the discovery is of the greatest interest. It 
will be instructive to compare this manuscript 
with the only one extant.” He looked again at 
it. “ If it is a copy,” he murmured, “ perhaps 
both indicate a common source. Thus the 
manuscript that we are seeking must be torn ; 
these leaves have fallen out, and perhaps during 
the packing up have been shoved into a wrong 
book. There is much still that is mysterious ; 
but the main fact appears to me certain, that 
we have here a remnant of the manuscript of 
Rossau, and this discovery ought to be a gua- 
rantee that the remainder is at hand. How much 


of it ?” he continued, gloomily, “ and in what 
condition ?” 

He again listened anxiously to the steps of 
the men who were clearing away in the loft. 
He rushed out of the room up the stairs, but re- 
turned in a few minutes. 

“ The work goes on slowly,” he said ; “ there 
is nothing yet to be seen.” 

“ I do not know whether I can wish that it 
should go on quickly,” exclaimed the Princess, 
cheerfully, but her eyes gave the lie to her 
smiling mouth. “ You must know that I am 
very unselfish in helping you to find the manu- 
script. As long as you are searching you belong 
to us. When you have obtained the treasure, 
you will withdraw yourself into your invisible 
world, and the retrospect alone will remain to 
us. I have a mind to close the remaining rooms 
of the house, and only to open one to you each 
year, until you have become quite at home with 
us.” 

“ That would be cruel not to me only,” re- 
plied the Professor. 

The Princess stepped up to him. “I do not 
use mere empty words,” she said, in a changed 
tone. “ The Prince wishes to domesticate you 
with us. Bergau is commissioned to enter into 
business arrangements, which will not determine 
your decision. But I express the same wish. I 
do it from my own heart.” 

“ This demand upon me is very unexpected,” 
answered the learned man, with astonishment. 
“ My custom is to weigh such proposals quietly, 
and in different points of view. 1 therefore beg 
your Highness not to require an answer imme- 
diately.” 

“ I cannot let you off,” exclaimed the Princess. 
“ I should like to gain you in my own way. You 
shall choose your office and occupation here as 
freely as is compatible with our different rela- 
tions : you shall have every kind of distinction, 
and every wish that it is in the power of the 
Prince to satisfy shall be fulfilled.” 

“lam a teacher in the University,” replied 
the Professor. “ I am so with pleasure, and not 
without success. My whole nature and the 
course of my education fit me for this vocation. 
The rights and duties which enclose my life 
have a firm hold on me. I have scholars, and I 
am engrossed with the work in which I wish 
them to partake.” 

“You will never find scholars that will be 
more truly devoted, or cling more warmly to 
you, than my brother and myself.” 

“ I am not a teacher who can for a continu- 
ance advance the studies of a Prince; I am 
accustomed to the strict methods of my learning, 
and quiet labour among my books.” 

“ This last part of your occupation, at least, 
w’ill not be lost to the world by your remaining 
here. This is just the place where you would 
find leisure, perhaps more than among your 
students.” 

“ This new life would bring me new duties,” 
replied the Professor, “ which I should feel called 
upon to fulfil. It would occasion me also dis- 
tractions to which I am not accustomed. But 
even if 1 could hope for all regarding my home 
and my private relations that would make life 
satisfactory to me, I must still take into con- 
sideration where I can personally be most useful; 


214 


THE LOST MANUSCEIPT. 


and I am not at present convinced that this 
would be the case here/’ 

The Princess looked down sadly. The steps 
of the men who were to free the manuscript 
from the piles of rubbish still continued to 
sound above. 

“ Yet,” continued the Professor, “ if we were 
to be fortunate enough to find the manuscript, 
many days, perhaps many years of my life would 
be taken up by a new task, which would be so 
great that I might find my University occupa- 
tions a burden. Then I should have a right to 
ask myself, in what situation I should best be 
able to advance this work. In this case, I 
should also have a right to leave the University 
for a long time. Even if I do not find it, it will 
be painful to me to part from here, for my soul 
will long hover restlessly about this place.” 

“ I will not let you off so easily,” cried the 
Princess. “I hear only the words, duty and 
j)archment. Is the liking that we show to you, 
then, of no value to you ? Forget, now, that I 
am a woman, and consider me as a warm-hearted 
boy, who looks up to you devotedly, and is not 
quite unworthy of your interest.” 

The Professor looked at the scholar who was 
standing before him, who did not wish to be 
considered as a woman. The Princess had never 
looked so attractive. He gazed on the blushing 
cheeks, on the eyes which were fastened so ex- 
pressively on his countenance, and on the rosy 
lips which trembled with inward emotion. “ My 
scholars look different to that,” he said, softly, 
“ and they are accustomed to criticise more 
strictly their teacher.” 

“ Be content,” cried the Princess, “ with 
finding pure admiration in a susceptible soul. 
I have before said how much I value your 
acquaintance. I am no empress who governs 
a kingdom, and do not wish to employ your 
powers for my business. But I should consider 
it the highest happiness to be in intimate rela- 
tions with your mind, to listen to the noble 
words you utter. I feel a longing to look upon 
life with the clear eyes of a man. You have 
easily, as if in play, solved riddles that have tor- 
mented me, and answered questions with which 
I have struggled for years. Herr Weruer, you 
have taken a kind interest in me; if you go 
from here, I shall find myself alone in those pur- 
suits with which I should most prefer being 
occupied. If 1 were a man I should seek you 
ns my teacher ; but I am fettered here, and, I 
beckon you to me.” 

The learned man listened entranced to the 
soft voice which spoke so persuasively. 

“ I do not beg for myself alone,” continued 
the Princess, “ my brother also needs a friend. 
It will be his task to take charge of the welfare 
of many. What you could do for his mind 
would be for the benefit of others. When I 
look away from the present, and dream of the 
future of our royal house and of this country, I 
feel proud that we, brother and sister, have a 
presage of what will be demanded in our time 
from princes, and I feel an ambition that we should 
both, before all others, show ourselves worthy 
of this high calling. I hope to see a new' life 
developed in my home, and my brother and my- 
self suiTouuded by the best spirits of our nation, 
'ihus wo should live sensibly and earnestly to- 


gether, as our times require ; it should be no 
pleasure-loving Court after the old style, but a 
hearty intercourse betw'een the Pi'ince and the 
mind of the nation. That will make us freer 
and better in ourselves, and will be an advantage 
to the whole people; it will also be a bright 
remembrance to future times. When I think 
of such a future, then, Herr Werner, 1 see you 
as the dear companion of our life, and the thought 
makes me proud and happy.” 

The sun was settitig, and its last rays fell 
glowing on the head of the learned man. Sweetly 
sounded the song of the nightingale among the 
elder-hushes ; the Professor stood silent opposite 
the beautiful lady who painted life to liim in ~ 
such rosy colours; his heart beat and his strength 
failed. He saw' before him two speaking eyes; 
and the sound of the entreating words, “ Bemain 
w'ith us,” returned w ith entrancing magic to his 
ear. 

Something rustled down near the Pi-incess ; 
the leaves of the manusenpt which she had 
touched fell on the gipund. The Professor bent 
dow'n to pick them up, and as he raised himself 
up again began, in a feeble tone : 

“Your H ighness takes a bright look into the 
future ; my eye is accustomed only to read single 
lines in the history of a past time. Here lies 
my first task ; my dreams flutter about these 
leaves. I am only a man for the study, and I 
should become less w’ere I to endeavour to be- 
come more. I know' that I deprive myself of 
much, and in this hour, when a vision of a bril- 
liant life shines before me so invitingly, I feel 
this more deeply than ever. But my greatest 
happiness must be, in a quiet abode, to impress 
upon the souls of others what will blossom and 
bear fruit in them. My greatest reward also 
must be that some scholar, when feeling con- 
scious of his own capacity, may give a passing 
thought to his distant teacher, who, though only 
an individual sower in the unbounded fields of 
our learning, has contributed to form him.” 

Thus said the learned man. But W'hilst say- 
ing, with a severe struggle for composure, what 
was time and honourable, he did not think only 
of the truth, nor only of the treasure w'hich he 
was seeking, but of the greater one w'hich he 
had left in order to carry on the chase with the 
beautiful fairy of the tower. He heard the be- 
seeching w'ords, “ Do not go, Felix,” and they 
w'ere a timely w’arning. “ When I return to 
her, w'ill she be contented with me ?” thought 
the innocent one. He was spared the necessity 
of asking the question. 

The rolling of a carriage was heard below', and 
the steps of the servant who was coming to 
announce an arrival. 

“ Is your will so inflexible, your intention so 
Arm?” exclaimed the Princess, passionately. 

“ But I also am obstinate; I shall continue my 
entreaties, Herr Weruer. There is W'ar betwixt 
us. Au revoir” 

She has^tened dow'n the steps. The. evening 
light disappeared behind dark clouds ; the mist 
hovered over the meadows and hung on the tops 
of the trees ; and the daws flew croaking round 
the walls of the tower. The door of the room 
above creaked on its hinges, and the Castellan 
rattled his keys, whilst the learned man looked 
lovingly at the leaves which he held in his hand. 


ILSE’S FLIGHT. 


215 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

^ Ilse uas awoke by her husband’s parting 
hiss ; she sat on her bed and listened to the 
rolling wheels. 

“ This has been a fearful night,” she said ; 
“ after tears and anguish there came bad dreams. 
1 was hanging over a precipice ; from the depth 
below, concealed by fog, arose the noise of a 
waterfall. Felix standing above, held me by a 
handkerchief; his strength was» giving way ; I 
felt that, but I had no anxiety about it in my 
dream. I wished that Felix would let me go, 
and not sink with me. Pass away in peace, my 
dream, to thine ivory doors ; thou wast a good 
dream, and I have no cause to be ashamed of 
thee. 

“ He goes there, and I am alone. No, my 
Felix, you are with me, even when I do not hear 
your voice. I was yesterday angry with you; 
I am sorry for it. 1 bear you within me, just 
as, accoi-ding to your teaching, the spirit of a 
man passes over into others. That portion, 
Felix, which I preserve within me I will keep 
honourably, and quietly guard in this hateful 
house.” 

She opened her curtains. 

“ It will again be a gloomy day ; the finches 
are already sitting at the window, crying for the 
dilatory woman who has slept beyond the break- 
fast hour of her little ones. Outside all is 
, blooming, and the large leaves of the alder blow 
about with pleasure in the moist air. But this 
rain will be more than my father likes ; the 
seed will sufier. No one is ever satisfied with 
the good God ; we are all covetous. 

“ At home they gossip about me ; my neigh- 
bour did not say tiie worst that she knew. I 
have not been used to this. When I became 
the wife of my Felix 1 thought myself raised 
above all the meanness of the world, but I now 
feel its sting in my soul.” 

She passed her hand over her eyes. 

“ No tears to-day,” she cried, springing up. 
“ When my thoughts flutter wildly, 1 will prove 
to myself that 1 have something of the learned 
character in me, and will calmly look into my 
own heart and still its beatings by prudent re- 
flection. When he first came to us, and the 
noble spirit of his conversation excited me, his 
image pui*sued me into my room. I took a 
hook, but 1 did not know what I read ; I laid 
hold of my account book, but I could not put 
two and two together ; I observed that all was 
confusion within me. Yet it was wrong to 
think thus about a man who was still a stranger 
to me. Then 1 went in my anguish into the 
nursery, airanged everything concerning my 
brothers and sisters, and examined whether the 
boys had torn anything. 1 was then a very 
homely creature. Ah, I am so still ; I hope it 
will help me now. I will put all my things to- 
gether, for I feel as if I should take a journey 
to-day, and that it will be well to have all pre- 
pai ed.” 

bhe opened the commode, drew out her trunk, 
and packed it up. 

“ But where to ?” she asked herself. “ Far 
away? How long it is since I wished I had 
wings like a swallow, and could fly with my 
ihuughts gaily into foreign parts ! and now' the 


wings of the poor little swallow' are paralysed. 
I sit alone on my branch ; I would gladly con- 
ceal myself in the leaves, and I dread the flut- 
tering and the chattering of my neighbours.” 

She supported her w’eary head w’ith her 
hands. 

“ Where should I go to ?” she sighed ; “ not 
to my father ; nor could I now look with plea- 
sure on hills and old columns. How can one 
have a heart for the forms of nature and the 
doings of past nations when one’s own life is out 
of joint ? 

“ My Felix said that one should always con- 
sider oneself the child of the wliole human race, 
and be elevated by the high thought that mil- 
lions of the dead and living are united to us in 
an indissoluble unity. But who separates me 
from those who were and are about me ? What 
rages in my soul and continually rises up, tor- 
menting me afresh ? Who will deliver me from 
dissatisfaction with myself and from terror 
about the future ? It may be a lesson for a 
man in the elevating hours when he contem- 
plates calmly all about him, but the lesson is too 
high for a poor tormented w'oman.” 

She took from the shelf her little Bible, which 
had been given her by the good Pastor on her 
departure from her father’s house, and drew it 
out of its cover. 

“ I have long neglected to read you, dear 
book, for when I open your pages I feel myself 
a double being : the old Ilse revives w'ho once 
trusted in your w’ords ; and then again I see 
myself, like my husband, criticising many pas- 
sages, and asking myself whether w’hat I find in 
you is according to my reason. I have lost my 
childish faith, and what I have gained instead 
gives me no certainty. When I fold my hands 
in prayer, as 1 did when I was a child, I know 
that I should pray for nothing but strength to 
overcome w'hat casts dow’ii my spirit.” 

The gardener entered the room, as he did 
every morning, with a basket of flowers which 
the lord of the castle sent her. Use rose and 
pointed to the table. 

“ Put it down,” she said, coldly, without 
touching the basket. 

She had frequently testified to the man her 
pleasure in the beautiful flowers which he had 
cultivated. It had always given him pain that 
the illustrious royalties had not noticed his rare 
plants, and he had been so pleased with the 
warm interest taken by the stranger lady that 
he had brought the flowers every morning him- 
self, and pointed out to her the new favoui’ites 
of the conservatory ; he also cut oil' the best that 
he had. 

“ The others do not notice them,” he said ; 
“ but she knows even the Latin names.” 

He now placed the basket of flowers down 
with a feeling of mortification. 

“ There are some new specimens of the cal- 
ceolaria,” he began, reproachfully; “they are 
of my own raising : you will not see others of 
this kind.” 

Ilse felt the disappointment of the gardener. 
She approached the table, and said : 

“ They are indeed very beautiful ; but flowers, 
dear sir, require a light heart, and lhat I have 
not now. I Lave ill repaid your kindness to- 
day ; do not be angry with me.” 


216 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


** If you would look at the grey-spotted one,” 
exclaimed tlie gardener, with the enthusiasm of 
an artist ; “ these are my pride, and are not to 
be had anywhere else in the world.” 

Use admired them. 

“ I have taken pains for many years,” con- 
tinued the gardener. “ I have done all I could 
to obtain good seed, but only common ones 
came ; when I had almost lost courage, all the 
new kinds blossomed in one year. It was not 
my art,” he added, honestly : “ it is a secret of 
nature ; she has given me good fortune, and re- 
lieved me from my cares all at once.” 

“ But you took pains and did your best,” an- 
s^vered llse ; “ when one does thus, one may 
trust to the good spirit of life.” 

The gardener went away appeased ; Use 
looked at the flowers. 

“ Even he who sent you has become a subject 
of anxiety to me. Yet he was the only one here 
M'ho showed me uniform kindness and treated 
me with respect. Felix is right: there is no 
ground for us to be disturbed on his account. 
Who knows whether he is much to blame with 
respect to the hateful reports about this house. 
1 must not be unjust towards him ; but when 
I look at his flowers, it now appears as if an 
adder lay within them, for I do not know whether 
his soul is pure or impure. I do not undei*stand 
his character, and that makes me uncertain and 
suspicious.” 

She pushed the basket away, and turned 
from it. 

The maid who waited upon her came, with a 
troubled countenance, into the room, and begged 
permission to go away for a day, as her mother 
was very ill in a neighbouring village. Use 
asked kindly about the illness, gave her the de- 
sired permission, with good wishes and advice. 
The maid went sadly out of the room; Use 
looked sorrowfully after her. 

“ Her heart is also heavy. It is well that my 
Felix is not at home, as when I am alone I can 
do for myself. It will be a quiet day, which will 
do me good after yesterday’s storm.” 

Again there was a knocking at the door ; the 
Castellan brought the letters which the postman 
had given him for the Pavilion. There were 
letters from the brothers and sisters who kept up 
a regular correspondence with their distant sister. 
A ray of joy passed over Use’s serious face. 

“ This is a pleasant morning greeting,” she 
said. “ I will to-day answer my little band in 
detiiil. Who knows whether I may have time 
for it next week.” 

She hastened to the writing-table, read, 
laughed, and wrote. Her uneasiness had passed 
away ; she chatted like a lively child in the lan- 
guage and thoughts of the nursery. Hours flew 
by in this occupation. Gabriel brought up and 
carried away the dinner. When in the afternoon 
he found her still bending over the letters, he 
lingered by her and struggled within himself 
wbether he should speak to her ; but as Use was 
so deeply engrossed with her work, he nodded 
and closed the door. 

Finally, llse wrote to her father. Again her 
thoughts became sad, anguish rose from the 
depth of her heart, and lay like a burning 
Weight on her bosom. She sprang up from her 
at! ting-table, and paced hastily about the room. 


WTien she came to the window, she saw the lord 
of the castle walking slowly along the gravel 
path towards the Pavilion. 

Use stepped back quickly. She was not un- 
accustomed to the short visits of the Prince ; 
but now she felt timid, the blood rushed to her 
heart, she pressed her hands over her bosom, 
and struggled for composure. 

The door flew open. 

“ I come to inquire,” began the Prince, how 
you bear your* solitude. My house also ha.s 
become empty, the children are gone from me, 
and it is lonely in the great building.” 

“I have employed my leisure in intercourse 
with distant friends,” answered Use. 

She would not on this occasion mention the 
children to the Prince. 

Are the little ones who play about in your 
home amongst these friends ?” asked the Prince, 
laughing. “ Have the children again expressed 
their wishes to you ?” 

He took a chair and invited Use to sit down. 
His demeanour made her more composed; his 
manner was that of a discreet and well-inten- 
tioned person. 

“ Yes, your Highness,” replied Use ; “ but 
this time my younger sister, Luise, w'as the 
most active correspondent.” 

“ Does she promise to become like you ? ” 
asked the Prince, kindly. 

“ She is now twelve years old,” replied Use, 
with reserve ; “ everything excites her feelings, 
and she has fancies about every blade of straw. 
It appears as if she would be the poetess of the 
schoolroom. I do not know how these fantasti- 
cal ideas have come into our family. She tells 
me in her letter a long story, as if :t had hap- 
pened to herself, and yet it is only a tale which 
she has read somewhere. For since I have left 
my home, more story-books have reached it than 
there were in my youth.” 

“Probably it is only childish trifling,” said 
the Prince, kindly, “ which leads her to substi- 
tute an invention for truth.*’ 

“ That is the case,” answered Use, more cheer- 
fully. “ She pretends that she lost herself in the 
wood, and when she was sitting sorrowfully 
among the mushrooms, the little animals whom 
she was in the habit of feeding in our court- 
yard, — the white mouse in the cage, the cats, 
and the shepherd’s dog, — placed themselves about 
her and ran before her till she found her way out 
of the wood. The cat together with the mouse, 
your Highness, that was silly ! This story she 
related boldly as if it were the truth, and ex- 
pected me to think it touching. That was too 
bad, but I have given her my opinion of it.” 

The Prince laughed, laughed from his heart. 
It was a rare sound that echoed through the 
walls of the dark room, and the god of love 
above looked down with surprise on the joyous 
man. 

“ May I ask how you criticised the noetic 
mind ?” asked the Prince. “ There is a poetical 
idea in the tale, that the kindness shown to 
others will always be repaid when required. 
But it is unfortunately only a poetic idea; gi-ati- 
tude is seldom met with in real life.” 

“One ought not in life to trust to foreign 
help,” replied Use, firmly ; “ and one ought not to 
show kindness to others in order that it may be 


ILSE’S FLIGHT, 


217 


repaid. There is certainly a peculiar pleasure 
when some chord which one has struf^k brings 
back its echo to one’s heart, but one should not 
trust to it ; a child that has strayed should make 
good use of its five senses in order to find its 
way home by itself. But, above all, one ought 
not to put forth poetical ideas as if they were 
real incidents. I was obliged to scold her, for, 
your Highness, girls in these days must have 
right ideas instilled into them, or they will soon 
lose themselves in dreams.” 

The Prince laughed again. 

Where are the prudent animals, Frau Use, who 
will give you friendly counsel in your time of 
need ? 

“ You are too strict,” continued the Prince. 

The witch-fancy is always deceiving the judg- 
ment of even us grown-up people ; one vexes 
oneself without reason, and one hopes and trusts 
w’ithout justification. Any one who could see 
his own position as it really is would scarcely be 
able to tolerate life.” 

“ Fancy confuses us,” answered Use, looking 
round, “ but it warns us also.” 

“ What is all warmth of feeling, all devotion, 
to other men,” continued the Prince, sorrow- 
fully ; “ nothing but subtle self-deceit. If now 
I am flattered by the joyful feeling that I have 
succeeded in gaining an interest in your heart 
that also is only a deception ; but it is a dream 
which I carefully foster, for it does me good. 
With an enjoyment which I have long been 
deprived of, 1 listen to the honest tones of your 
voice, and the thought is painful to me that I 
should ever be without this delightful enjoy- 
ment. It is of greater value to me than you 
imagine.” 

“ Your Highness speaks to me as to a true 
friend,” replied Use, drawing herself up ; “ and 
if I am really to accept your kind expressions, I 
must believe that you really feel what you say. 
But this same fancy, which you blame and 
praise, disturbs also the confidence M’hich I 
would gladly have in your Highness. I will no 
longer be silent about it, for it pains me after 
such sweet words to keep any feeling in my 
heart against you.” She rose up hastily. “ It 
disturbs my peace to feel that I dwell in a house 
wdiich the feet of other women avoid.” 

The Prince looked astonished «at the woman 
who, with such firmness, controlled her inward 
excitement. 

** The gipsy,” he murmured. 

“ Your Highness knows well what fancy does 
for us,” continued Use, sorrowfully. “It has 
tormented me, and made it difficult for me in 
this place to believe in the esteem of which your 
Highness assures me.” 

“ VV’hat have they been telling you ?” asked 
the Prince, in a sharp tone. 

“ What your Highness ought not to desire to 
hear from my mouth,” replied Use, proudly. 
“ It is possible that the master of a Court con- 
siders such things with indifference. I tell 
myself that. Bi.t it is a misfortune to me to 
have been here : it is a spot on a stainless dress, 
on which I fix my ey^'S wildly ; I wash it away 
with my hand, and yet it lies always before me, 
for it is a shadow that falls from without.” 

Tlie Prince looked gloomily before him. 

“ 1 do not assent to what you, yourself, have 


put into the mouth of a master of a Court, for I 
feel at this moment, like you, deeply and pas- 
sionately that an injury has been done you. I 
have only one excuse,” he continued, with ex- 
cited feeling : “ you came here to me a stranger, 
and I little thought what a treasure lay con- 
cealed near me. Since that, in our slight inter- 
course, you have aroused in me a feeling to which 
I yield irresistibly. It is seldom permitted me 
by fate to say undisguisedly what I feel. I 
hardly venture to use the impassioned language 
of a youth, for I do not wish to disquiet you. 
But do not think that I feel less strongly to- 
wards you because I know how to conceal my 
emotion.” 

Use stood in the middle of the room, and a 
heightened colour rose in her cheeks. 

“ I beg your Highness not to say another 
word, for it does not befit me to listen to you.” 

The Prince laughed bitterly. 

“ So I have already wounded you, and you 
lose no time in making it clear that it was an 
illusion when I hoped for your aftection. And 
yet I am so completely your slave, that I beg 
of you not to refuse your sympathy to a passion 
which glows so warmly within me, that it has 
at this moment entirely deprived me of self- 
control.” 

Use whispered, in a low tone : 

“ I. must away from here.” 

“ Renounce this idea,” cried the Prince, be- 
side himself. “ I cannot be deprived of your 
presence or of the sound of your voice. How- 
ever slightly it may gladden me, it is the happi- 
ness of my days — the one great feeling in a life 
without pleasure or love. The knowledge that 
you are near me maintains me in my struggle 
against thoughts that stupefy me in gloomy 
hours. Like the devout pilgrim who listens to 
the little bell of the hermitage, I listen to the 
slightest chord that vibrates from your life into 
mine. Consent to accept the devotion of the 
lonely man,” he continued, more tninquilly. “ I 
vow never more to wound your delicate feelings. 
I vow to be contented with that shai’e of your 
life which you will freely give me.” 

“ I repent of every word that I have spoken 
to your Highness, and I repent of every hour in 
which I have thought honourably of you,” ex- 
claimed Use, with kindling anger. “ I was a 
poor trusting child,’* she continued, excitedly. 
“ I bowed submissively to my Prince before I 
saw him as he is ; now that I know him, he 
excites horror in me, and I gather up my gai’- 
ment and say. Away from me ! ” 

The Prince fell back in his chair. 

“ It is an old curse that echoes in my ears 
from these walls ; it is not your own soul that 
drives mo from you. From your lips should 
only come words of love and compassion. I am 
not a tempter, but am myself a wanderer in the 
wilderness, with nothing about me but desert 
sand and stern rocks. I hear the laughter of 
children; I see the fair-haired group passing 
by me ; I see two eyes fixed on me with warm 
greeting, and a hand, with the filled cup, which 
beckons to the weary one ; and, like a vision of 
mist, it has all disappeared. 1 remain alone, 
and I go to destruction.” 

He closed his hands over his eyes. Use did 
not reply. She stood turned away, looking 


II 


218 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


through the window at the clouds which flitted 
across the heaven. 

All was quiet in the room. Nothing moved, 
and no one spoke. At last the Prince rose 
slowly : he approached Use. There was a glassy 
look in his eye, and he moved wearily. 

“ If I have wounded you by what I said In 
my overflowing eagtiness, foiget it. I have 
shown you that I am not free from the weak- 
ness of hoping to gain a heart that would beat 
in unison with mine. Only remember that I 
am an erring one who sought comfort from you. 
It was a humiliating question : if you cannot 
respond to it, do not be angry with the poor 
petitioner.” 

He gazed on her with a long, protracted look 
of burning passion, deadly wounded pride, and 
something more, that inspired her with terror, 
but she looked him firmly and rigidly in the 
face. He raised a warning finger, and left the 
room. 

She listened to his tread as he went away, 
marked every step as he descended, and when 
he closed the house-door, pulled the bell. 

Gabriel, who was standing in the anteroom, 
entered quickly. 

“ I will go away from here,” exclaimed Use. 

“ Where to, Frau Professoriu ?” asked the 
frightened servant. 

Wliere to ?” echoed in Use’s ears. 

“ To my husband,” she cried ; but, as if lis- 
tening to her own words, she shuddered. He 
also was in a house of the Prince. He was with 
the daughter of the bad man. He himself was 
not safe there — his wife would not be safe with 
him. Where to ? The question whirled in her 
head. The son of the bad man was with her 
father, so she must not go home; her neigh- 
bour hud said so. She sank her head as if 
stunned. A feeling of helplessness lay like a 
dead weight upon her; but she raised herself 
again, and approached Gabriel. “ 1 will leave 
this house,” she said ; “ 1 will leave this city 
to-day — at once.” 

The servant wrung his hands. 

“ I knew it would come to this,” he ex- 
claimed. 

“You knew it,” asked Use, gloomily ; “and 
neither I nor my husband did ? Was it visible 
to every passer by, and yet a secret to him and 
me ? ” 

“ I observed that there was something about 
this place that was not quite the thing,” an- 
swered Gabriel, “ and that no one trusted the 
distinguished gentleman who visited it. How 
could I tell you what seemed only my foolish 
idea ?” 

“It is not well to pay too little attention to 
people’s talk,” replied Use ; “ I will go to some 
place where I can find a woman, Gabriel. Get 
a carriage for me immediately, and accompany 
me to Frau Rollmaus. We will leave every- 
thing here, and you must return to the house, 
that you may be on the spot when my husband 
comes back.” 

“ Where shall I get a cai’riage ?” asked Gabriel, 
hesitatingly. 

“ From the city, and not from the royal 
stable.” 

Gabriel stood and reflected. At last he said, 
•hortly : 


“ I go, Frau Professor! n ; be careful to pre- 
vent the lackey from knowing that you prepare 
for a journey.” 

“ No one shall know it,” cried Use. 

Gabriel hastened away, and Use locked the 
door and flew into the next room. There she 
collected all that was indispensable for the jour- 
ney. She closed all the cupboards and ward- 
robes, and put the keys in a bunch. “ When 
Felix comes, he shall not say I ran away in a 
giddy hurry.” She went to his writing-table, 
and sealed up the letters in a packet. “ No 
curious eye shall look upon you,” she said. 
When she packed up the letters of the children 
and her own answers, a shudder came over her, 
and she concealed the bundle rapidly under 
other writings. She was ready, and Gabriel 
had not yet returned. He seemed to linger 
long. With firm steps she went through the 
rooms. “ You have become more strange to me 
the longer I have dwelt here. What has be- 
come of the brilliant impression of the first 
evening ? It was a cold splemlour, hostile to 
my life. I would gladly root up every recollec- 
tion of it from my soul.” She placed herself on 
the spot where, in the night, she had looked on 
her sleeping husband. “ That was my last sor- 
rowful look at his dear face ; when shall I see it 
again ? I go from you, my Felix ; who would 
have thought it when we stood together before 
the altar ? I leave you behind among wicked 
men ; you also in danger, and I go away alone 
to seek safety for myself far from you. Who 
woidd have said some days ago that I should 
have called him a liar to his fiice ? I go, my 
Felix, in order to save myself for you. 'J'hink 
of that, and do not be angry with mo. I would 
not have gone for less cause.” She sank down 
on the pillow, and wrung her hands with tearless 
sorrow. She lay long in this state. At last 
there was a knocking at the outer door. She 
jumped up and opened it, btit she drew back 
terrified when she beheld the pale countenance 
of her faithful servant. 

“ I have not ordered any carriage,” said 
Galn’iel, “ for it would bo of no use.” 

“ What do you mean ?” asked Use, gloomily. 

“ Any carriage that went from here would not 
take the Frau Professoriu where she wishes; 
only where another wishes.” 

“ Then we will go ourselves, and take a vehicle 
in the city.” 

“ Wherever we go,” replied Gabriel, “ we 
shall be observed, and if I call a cai’riage it will 
be taken from ns.” 

You are fi-ightened yourself, Gabriel, and 
see dangers where none are,” replied Use, 
annoyed. “ 

“ If we could only get an honest man to take 
yon to Frau Rollmaus,” continued Gabriel ; “but 
it is doubtful whether you could get there. Do 
you see that man underneath by the castle ? He 
goes slowly as if he were taking a walk, but ho 
never turns his eyes from this house. That is 
one of our watchers, and he is not the only 
one.” 

“ Wlio has told you that ?” asked Use. 

“ I have a good friend here who belongs to 
the castle,” replied Gabriel, hesitating. “ Do 
not be angry, Frau Professoriu, that I asked 
him, for he knows all their tricks. It is possible, 


219 


ILSE’S FLIGHT. 


fee said, that we maj’ succeed ; for one cannot I 
assume that all the people of the city are robbers ' 
or deceivers, but it is uncertain and dangerous.” 

Use seized her hat and cloak. 

“ I go, Gabriel,” she said, quietly. “ Will 
: you accompany me on my way ?” 

“ Dear Frau Professorin, wherever you wish,” 
cried Gabriel. “ Put listen first to my proposal. 
My acquaintance thinks that the safest way 
would be, if the Crown Inspector shoiild fetch 
you himself in the evening. The evenings are 
dark, and you may then perhaps be able to leave 
the house without the lackey or any one else re- 
marking it.” 

“ A prisoner ! ” exclaimed Use. “ Wlio is 
your acquaintance ?” she asked, looking sharply 
at Gabriel. 

I “ He is time as gold,” Gabriel assured her, 

^ “ and I will willingly tell the Frau Professorin 
later, but I beg you not to ask me to-day, for 
I he has desired, for his own safety, that no one | 
I should be told.” 

“ I trust in your faithfulness,” replied Use, 

I coldly ; “ but you yourself may be deceived ; I 
u ill not follow the advice of a stranger.^’ 

“ He has offered me a horse,” cried Gabriel, 
“ it is outside the city. If you will give me a 
line to the Crown Inspector, I will ride myself 
and bring the carriage in g^od time.” 

Use looked gloomi’y at the servant. 

“ IMany hours must pass away, and I will not 
remain here alone. I u ill go on foot along the 
high road to my friends.” 

“ Look, Frau Professorin, at the sky; a storm 
is coming.” 

“ 1 do not care for it,” exclaimed Use ; “ it is 
not the first time I shall have gone through the 
rain. If you do not choose to accompany me, 
you may Avait here for my husband, and tell him 
that 1 have gone away to my home, and when 1 
im with good people I will write to him.” 

Gabriel Avrung his hands; Use put on her 
cloak. 

Suddenly there Avas on the floor bcloAV a loud 
altercation. Gabriel hastily opened the door; 
the bass voice of a stranger Avas scolding the 
lackey A'ehemcntly : 

“ But I tell you I am not the man Avho Avill 
alioAv the door to be shut in his face ; she is at 
home.” 

Use threAv off her hat and cloak, sprang doAvn 
the stairs, and called out. 

“ Herr Hummel !” 

“Your most obedient scrAmnt, Frau Profes- 
sorin,” cried out Hummel. “I come immediately, 
only I Avill first express to this major-domo my 
liigh opinion of him. You are an intrigante. Sir, 
and an object to Avhom I wish such treatment as 
he deserves — a three-year-old SAvitch and a tight 
halter. I come, Frau Professorin.” He ascended 
the stairs heavily. Use flcAv to meet him, led him 
into her room, and Avas so overcome that she laid 
her head on his shouhier and Avept. 

Herr Hummel Avas silent, and looked sympa- 
thisingly at Use. 

“ 8o these are Court manners ?” he asked, 
softly; “and this is the Avay in Avhich conA^ersa- 
■ tion is carried on ?” 

“ My husband is gone into the country. I 
wish to go aAvay ; Herr Hummel, help me to j 
escape.” ' 


“ That is quite my intention,” said Herr 
Hummel : “ 1 am already in the middle of an 
elopement business. I come to this city in order 
to convey to you a request from my daughter 
Laura, and to bring matters to some settlement 
Avith the black gentleman here. Where do you 
Avish to go ?” 

To kind friends Avho Avill take me to my 
father’s house.” 

“ Tluit is the right Avay,” replied Hummel. 
“ In desperate cases, a\ hen CA'crything totters in 
the Avorld, the child should go back to her father. 
His faithfulness remains; she is tAventy years old 
before that of the husband begins. As your 
father is not here, alloAv one Avho knoAvs what it 
is to feel anxious about a child to take the place 
of a father to you.” 

Use clung to him; Hummel pressed her hand, 
after his fashion, tenderly ; but it Avas a hard 
pressure. 

“Noav for calm and cool-bloodedncss. It can 
be no small matter which moves you so strongly. 
I Avill net IcaA’o you until I see you avcII pro- 
tected.” He looked at Gabriel, Avho made him 
a sign. “ Do not trouble yourself further in the 
matter. Scat yoAU’self quietly doAvn, and allow 
me to confer Avith Gabriel. 1 Avill take care of 
everything for you, and I ansAver for every- 
thing.” 

Use looked at him thankfully and seated her- 
self obediently. Hummel beckoned Gabriel into 
the next room. 

“ What has happened here ?” ho asked. 

“ I'hc master has gone aAvay for some days ; 
meanwhile the Fraii Professorin has been treated 
in an unseemly Avay ; great Avickedness goes on 
here, and they Avill not let her go.” 

“ Not let my lodger go ?” ci ied Hen* Hiaui- 
mel ; “ ladiculons ! I have a passport to Paris 
in my pocket, Ave Avill hop over this country like 
grasshojipers. I Avill fetch a conveyance im- 
mediately.” 

Gabriel shook his head. The confidants con- 
ferred together for a time. Herr Hummel came 
bsick and, said, Avith greater seriousness, to Use : 

“ Noav I must beg of you to Avrite a fcAv lines 
to the CroAvn Inspector — to the husband, not to 
his Avife, othorAvise there Avoidd be confusion. 
You must desire him immediately after the re- 
ceipt of this letter, if he is willing to do a 
great kindness, to come here in a close carriage, 
to stop in the suburb, at the Black Bear, and he 
must not leaA’e his cariiage. Nothing further. 
This letter Gabriel Avill couA’ey to him. How he 
does so is his aflair, not ours ; if he chooses to 
fly, like this ambiguous genius on the ceiling, 
AA ho has forgotten his paletot, it Avill be so much 
the better. Noav the letter is Avritten, forgive 
me if I read it. All right and accurate — away, 
Gabriel, quickly. When you Inn'o passed the 
castle, then make speed : till then, act as a 
quiet philanthropist. I alloAV you to Avhistle 
my Dessaucr, if you can. If they ask you any 
questions, say you are looking after some business 
for me.” 

Gabriel hastened aAvay. Hummel placed his 
chair in front of Use, and looked at his Avatch. 

“You Avill have to wait five hours for the 
carriage if all goes right. MeaiiAvhile you must 
bear my company, I Avill not leave the house 
without you. Do not be troubled at the delay. 


220 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


It gives me pleasure, for I wish to rpeak with 
you as with an honourahle woman, to whom I can 
take oft' my hat with true respect, concerning my 
own affairs, which I have much at heart. We 
have time enough for it. I have also brought 
some papers to the Ilerr Professor; they are of 
little importance, but I will lay them on the 
table, and we will sit opposite each other as 
people of business. Then I should be glad if you 
would give that Judas in the servants’ chamber 
some commission on my account. Have the 
goodness also to do everything that might lead 
them to suppose you had been carried off by 
me.” 

Use looked round her with uncertainty. 

“ What shall I say to the man, Herr Hum- 
mel ?” 

“ You are so good a housewife,” replied Hum- 
mel, politely, “ that I can leave entirely to you 
to decide what you would provide for me. I 
have been travelling the whole day,” and he 
made a significant gesture towards his waist- 
coat. 

Use jumped up ; in spite of all her anxieties, 
she could not help laughing, and said : 

“ Forgive me, Herr Hummel.” 

“ That is the right frame of mind,” replied 
Hummel ; “ there is no better remedy for the 
tragic than a well-covered table. I beg, there- 
fore, that you will selul not only for one plate, 
but for two. I could not cat if you were look- 
ing on. Believe me, Frau Professoriu, the 
noblest feelings are not to be depended on if an 
honest hutterbrod is not impressed on them as 
a stamp. It makes people calm and firm — and 
you will have occasion for these virtues to-day.” 

Use rang the bell. 

“ If the knave appears,” proceeded Herr 
Hummel, “ mention to him my name and firm. 
1 do not generally travel incognito, and I wish 
not to be looked upon as mysterious here.” 

The lackey a])peared. Use gave him orders 
to fetch the necessary refreshment, and asked 
him how it was he had denied her presence to 
her dear landlord. 

The man stammered an excuse, and went away 
hastily. 

“ When I came to this house I was aware that 
all was not right here. I asked after you at the 
castle and received no satisfactory answer. I 
asked a man at the back of the castle who was 
wandering about which was your house. He 
looked at me like a cross-bill. You were travel- 
ling, he declared, and he tried to pump me of my 
secret. Thereupon there was a short conversa- 
tion, in which cross-bill showed his spite be- 
cause 1 called him in ignorance by his proper 
title of spy. The sentinel came up at this, and 
I saw that these gentlemen comrades had a great 
mind to seize me. Then there came up a young 
gentleman who asked the other the cause of the 
quarrel, and said he knew that you were at 
home. He accompanied me up to this house, 
asked my name politely, told me also his own. 
Lieutenant Treeclimber, and advised me not to 
be frightened away, that the servants were inso- 
lent, but that you would be rejoiced to see an 
old friend. He must be known to you.” 

The lackey laid the table. Whenever he 
ofTered Herr Hummel a dish, the latter gave 
him a withering look, and did not endeavour to 


make his office easy to him. "Wliilst the ser- 
vant was removing the thing^, Herr Hummel 
began : 

“ Now permit me to talk of our business, it 
will be a long account ; have you patience for it ?” 

The evening h?.d set in, darkness lay over the 
dismal house, the storm came on, the windows 
rattled, and the rain poured down. Use sat as 
in a dream. In the midst of the stormy scenes 
of the past day and the uneasy expectation of a 
wild nigi»t, the comfortable prose of the Park 
Street rose before her, where, fearless and secure, 
she was at peace with herself and the w’orld, so 
far as the world was not vexatious. But she 
felt how beneficial this contrast was ; she forgot 
sometimes her own position, and listened with 
deep sympathy to the account of the father. 

“ I am speaking to a daughter,” said Herr 
Hummel, “who is going back to her father, 
and I tell her what 1 have said to no one else ; 
how hard it is to bear my child’s wish to leave 
me.” 

He spoke about the child whom they both 
loved, and it was pleasant intercourse between 
them. Thus some hours passed. 

The lackey came again, and asked respectfully 
whether the Frau Professoriu had sent away 
Gabriel. 

“ He has gone upon a commission for me,” 
grumbled out Herr Hummel, to the inquirer ; 
“ he is looking after some money business with 
which I would not trouble your honour. If any 
one inquires for me from the city, I must beg, 
Frau Professoriu, to order this man not to denv 
me.” 

He looked again at his watch. 

“ Four houra,” he said. “ If the horse was 
good, and Gabriel did not lose his way in the 
dark, we may expect him every moment. If he 
has not succeeded you may still be without 
anxiety ; I will take you from this house.” 

The bell below rang, and the house door 
opened — Gabriel entered. There was pleasure 
in his countenance. 

“ Punctually at ten o’clock the carriage will 
stop before the inn,” he said, cautiously ; “ I 
have ridden quickly in advance.” 

Use jumped up. Again the terrors of the day 
and anxiety for the future passed through her 
mind. 

“ Sit still,” admonished Hummel again ; 
“ violent moving about is suspicious. 1 will 
meanwhile hold council once more with Gabriel.” 

This council lasted a long time. At last 
Herr Hummel came back, and said, very seri- 
ously : 

“ Now, Frau Professorin, prepare yourself; we 
have a quarter of an hour to go in. Yield your- 
self quietly to our guidance ; all has been care- 
fully considered.” 

Herr Hummel rang. Gabriel, who had re- 
turned to the spy on the ground fioor, entered 
as usual, and took some keys and a screw-driver 
out of his pocket, and said, cautiously : 

“ The first week we were here I closed the 
small back staircase and secured the door with a 
large screw ; the people do not know that I have 
the keys.” 

He went to one of the back rooms and opened 
I the entrance to a secret staircase. Herr Hummel 
1 glided after him. 


ILSE’S FLIGHT. 


221 


I wish to know how I shall let myself in 
again/’ he said, returning to Frau Use. “ \Vlien 
I have taken you away some one must be moving 
about hei’e as your spirit, otherwise all the 
trouble would be lost. Gabriel will take you 
down the back staircase, whilst I go out at the 
front door and keep the lackey in con^'ersatiou. 

I will meet you a short distance from this house 
amongst the bushes ; Gabriel will bi'ing you to 
me, and I will be sure to be there.” 

Use pressed his hand anxiously. 

“ I hope all u ill go well,” said Herr Hummel, 
cautiously. “ Take care to have a cloak that 
will conceal you as much as possible.” 

Use flew to her writing-table and in haste 
wrote those words : 

Farewell, beloved ; I go to my father.” 

Again sorrow overpowered her; she wrung 
her hands and wept. Hummel stood respectfully 
by her side. At last he laid his hand on her 
shoulder : “ The time is passing away.” 

Use sprang up, enclosed the note in a cover, 
gave it to Gabriel, and quickly veiled herself. 

“ Now forward,” admonished Herr Hummel, 
“ out of both doors. 1 go first. I take leave of 
you, Frau Professorin, he called out aloud, 
through the open door ; “ 1 hope you will rest 
well.” 

He stepped heavily down the stairs, the 
lackey was standing on the last step. 

“Come here, youth,” c.-ied Hummel, “I wish 
to have you stuff'd after your death, and placed 
before the council house as a model of the love 
of truth for later generations. When I return 
you may depend upon it I will give myself the 
])leasure of expressing my high opinion of you ; 
then I will discover to the Herr Professor the 
whole meanness of your nature. I have a great 
mind to make known in to-day’s paper your 
worthlessness, in order that you may become a 
scarecrow to every one.” 

The servant listened with downcast <5yes, and 
bowed mockingly. 

“ Good-night, courtier,” cried Herr Hummel, 
going out and closing the door behind him. 

Herr Hummel walked wdth business-like 
activity from the house ; turning to the left side 
where a path entered a thicket, there he con- 
cealed himself. The rain poured, and the wind 
rustled in the tops of the trees. Herr Hummel 
hjokod cautiously about him when he entered 
the dark spot where Gabriel and the Prince had 
once spoken to one another of the spirits of the 
castle. There was a slight stir in the thicket, 
and a tall figu’'e approached him and seized 
his arm. 

“ Good,” said Herr Hummel, in a low tone ; 
“ go back quickly, Gabriel, and expect me in 
time. But we must seek out dark paths and 
-. avoid the lights ; you must conceal your face 
I under the veil when we come into the open.” 

T Use took the arm of her landlord and walked 
along, covered by the great umbrella which Herr 
Hummel held over her. 

Behind the fugitives the tower clock struck 
ten, when the outline of the inn outside the 
gate was seen against the dusky heaven. 

“ We must not be too early nor too late,” said 
Herr Hummel, restraining the steps of his eager 
companion. At the same moment a carriage 
came slow ly towards them out of the darkness. 


Use’s arm trembled. “ Be calm,” begged Herr 
Hummel ; “ see wdiether that is your friend.” 

“ I recognise the light colour,” whispered 
Use, breathless. Herr Hummel approached the 
coachman’s covered seat, and asked, as a pass- 
w'ord, “ From Kroten ?” 

“ Dorf,” answ'ered a firm voice. The Crown 
Inspector sprang dowm to Use; there was a 
little movement in the carriage, the corner of 
the leather apron w^as lifted, and a small hand 
w'as put out. Hummel seized and shook it. 
“An agreeable addition,” he said. Without 
speaking a w^ord, the Crown Inspector un- 
buttoned the leather apron, “ My dear friend,” 
cried a trembling female voice from within. 
Use turned to Herr Hummel ; “ not a word,” he 
said; “a good journey to you.” Use was 
pushed in ; Frau Kollmaus seized hold of her 
arm, and held it firmly ; and whilst the Crowm 
Inspector w’as again buttoning the apron, Herr 
Hummel greeted him. “ It gives me pleasure,” 
he said, “ but for exchange of names this is not 
a favourable opportunity. Besides which, our 
classes are, according to the law's of nature, not 
the same. But punctuality at the right time 
and good-will were mutual.” The Crown In- 
spector jumped upon the coachman’s box and 
seized the reins. He turned the carriage, Herr 
Hummel gave a farewell tap upon the wet 
leather apron, the horses trotted off quietly, and 
the carriage passed into the darkness. 

Hummel looked after it till the heavy rain 
concealed it from his view', cast one more search- 
ing glance upon the now empty road, and 
hastened back to the city. He w’ent to the 
Pavilion through the most remote part of the 
grounds ; at the spot w'here Gabried had put the 
lady under his charge, he dived into the deep 
shade of the trees, and made his w'ay cautiously 
through the wet bushes to the back of the 
house. He felt along the w'all. “ Stop on the 
threshold,” whispered Grabriel ; “ I will take off 
your boots.” 

“ Cannot I be spared this Court toilet ?” 
grumbled Hummel. “ Breeches and stockings 
are contrary to my nature.” 

“ All w'ill have been in vain if you are heard 
on the staircase.” 

Hummel slipped up the stairs behind Gabriel 
into the dark room. “ Here are the Frau Pro- 
fessorin’s rooms. You must move backwai'ds 
and forw’ards in the dark, and sometimes move 
the chairs, till I call you. There is now another 
spy, they are talking together below. I fear 
they suspect that w’e have something on hand. 
They look at me askance. The lackey carries 
every day the lamps from the sitting-room, and 
nothing must be altered; it would create sus- 
picion if he did not hear some one moving about 
in the next room. When all is quiet, then the 
lackey leaves the house, and w'e can speak to 
one another.” 

“ It is against my conscience, Gabriel,” mur- 
mured Hummel, “ to remain in a strange house 
without the permission of the possessor or 
lodger.” 

“ Quiet,” w'arncd Gabriel, anxiously ; “ I hear 
the man on the stairs ; close the door behind 
me.” 

Herr Hummel stood alone in the dark. He 
placed his boots near the arm-chair, turned them 


222 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


round, and gave them sometimes a pusli. “All 
gently,” he thought, “ for they are the move- 
ments of a Professor’s wife. The demands 
which have been made on this occasion on a 
householder have exceeded all Imagination. An 
elopement from a strangei s house, and acting 
the* part of a lady in the darkness of night.” 
The steps of men were heard outside, and he 
again pushed his boots. “ Darkness in a strange 
house is by no means desirable,” he continued, 
to himself. “ I have always had a hatred of a 
dark room since I once fell into the air-hole of 
a cellar; this gloom is only good for cats and 
rogues. But the most lamentjible thing for a 
citizen is, that his boots should be withheld 
from him.” He heard a light tread in the next 
room, and again moved the chair. 

At last all became quiet in the house. Herr 
Hummel threw himself back in the chair, and 
looked wearily round the strange room. A pale 
ray of light fell from without through a crevice 
of the curtains, and the tassel of the curtain and 
the gilded top of a chair glimmered in the dark- 
ness. Now at last Herr Hummel might put 
on his boots, and then for a time he occupied 
himself with a severe judgment of the world. 
His citizen hour for rest had meanwhile come, 
and he was tired with his joiirney ; he sank 
gradually into a dreamy state, and his last dis- 
tiuct thought was, “ there must be no snoring 
in this royal darkness.” With this intention he 
closed his eyes, and said farewell to the cares of 
t.ie world. 

In his sleep it appeared to him as if he heard 
a slight noise ; he opened his eyes and looked 
round the room. He saw indistinctly that the 
wall looked dilferent from what it had done. 
The large mirror which had been inserted in the 
hollow of the wall seemed to have vanished, and 
it appeared to him as if a veiled figure stood in 
the wall and moved. He was a courageous man, 
but his limbs now trembled with terror. He 
barricaded himself behind a chair. “ Is this 
only a magic lantern ?” he began, with stam- 
mering voice : “ if so, I beg you not to disturb 
yourself; I admire the art, but have not my 
purse with me. But if you are a man, I should 
like a more distinct knowledge of the fact. I 
call upon you to show yourself in substance. 
1 have the honour to present myself to you in 
this scanty light. Hat manufacturer, Henry 
Hummel ; my papers are correct — a piissport to 
Paris.” He put his hand into his breast pocket. 
“ As a res})ectable citizen is bound to defend 
himself in Diese dangerous times, it has been in- 
serted in avec un pistolet. I beg 

you kindly to pay attention to this.” He took 
out a pocket pistol and held it before him. He 
again looked at the spot; nothing was to be 
Been; the minor stood as before. He rubbed 
his eyes. “ Stupid stutf,” he said ; “ it was, 
after all, only a sleepy fancy.” 

The door of the house was closed outside. 
For a while he stood looking round suspiciously, 
and perspiration rose on his brow. At last he 
heard Gabriel’s knock at the door ; he opened it, 
took the light quickly from his hand, and ap- 
proached the mirror so as to throw the light 
upon the frame and wall. 

“ It seems to stand firm ns iron,” he said to 
himself; “ it was only a deception.” 


But he hastily seized his hat, and took the 
servant out of the room. 

“ I have had enough for to-day,” he grumbled 
out ; “ I wish to get as quickly as possible out 
of this house. I do not like that you should re- 
main here alone, Gabriel. Early to-morrow I 
will look out for you ; I have occupation for the 
whole day in the city. Endeavour to sleep ; we 
shall both in our beds think of this intrigue and 
o’f her who is still seeking a secure roof for pro- 
tection from night storms and spirits.” 

Use travelled through the night ; the rain 
poured in torrents around her, the storm howled 
through the trees, and the water splashed high 
from the ruts about the horses and carriage. It 
was only between the figures of the men on the 
front seat that she caught glimpses of the mid- 
night sky, which hung heavy and dark above 
the fugitives. Sometimes a glimmer of light 
twinkled from the window of a house, and then 
again there was nothing but rain, storm, and 
black night. She maintained a terrified silence 
during the ghostly journey, Frau Rollmaus still 
clasping her hand. Use was driving into the 
world, a storm -lashed world, poor in light and 
rich in tears. There was uncertainty and fear- 
ful anxiety everywhere, whether she thought of 
the loved one whom she left behind her in the 
hands of the persecutor, or saw before her the 
troubled countenance of her father, and the fields 
of the property where the young man dwelt 
whose neighbourhood threatened her now with 
new sorrow ; but she sat erect. 

“ When he returns to the door over which the 
black angel hovers, he will ask in vain for his 
wife. But I have done what I was obliged to 
do : the sovereign Disposer of my life watches 
over me.” 

There was the sound of a horse’s hoof behind 
the carriage ; it approached nearer ; where the 
private road to the property branched olf from 
the great high road, a cavalier galloped up on 
a foaming horse ; he spoke to him who was on 
the coachman’s seat, the carriage and rider 
rushed side by side together for some moments, 
then the rider reined in his horse. The Crown 
Ins]>ector threw a branch of a tree into the 
carriage. 

“ The cavalier has brought this for Frau Use ; 
it is from the tree under her window, and tlio 
reckoning is paid.” 


CHAPTER XXXVll. 

At the same hour in which Use was listening 
to the comforting words of her landlord, the 
carriage ot the Lord High JStewai’d was driving 
to the tower castle of the Princess. The Prin- 
cess received the announcement with astonish- 
ment, and flew down to her reception-room. 
The Professor caused the chest with its contents 
to be taken to his room, and was in the act of 
bending over the manuscript when the High 
Marshal entered to deliver liimself of his com- 
mission. Meanwhile the Princess awaited the 
old gentleman. 

The Lord High Steward had been appointed 
to the honourable office of attendance upon tlie 
Princess : it was a considerate way of removing 


THE LORD HIGH STEWARD. 


223 


Inm from the person of tlie Pi ince. His car- 
riage was be seen every morning at the same 
hour at the wing of the castle which was in- 
habited by the Princess. His personal relations 
to the young Princess appeared cool ; in Court 
society he was treated by her with just as much 
distinction as was necdiul, and petitioners learnt 
6ometiir.es that their requests were Imparted to 
him. He was esteemed by the citizens on ac- 
(X)unt ot his benevolence, and was the only one 
of the lords of the Court concerning whom 
one never heai'd an unfavourable opinion. He 
dwelt in an old-fashioned house surrounded by 
gardens, was unmarried, rich, without relations, 
and lived quietly bv himself. He was, it was 
supposed, without influence; he was not in 
favour, and was therefore treated by the young 
cavaliers with respect. He was, notwithstanding 
all this, indispensable to the Prince and Court. 
He was the great dignitary who was necessary 
for all ceremonials ; he was counsellor in all 
family matters ; he was ambassador and escort 
in all transactions with foreign courts. He was 
well known at most of the courts of Europe, 
had acquaintances in the great diplomatic 
bodies, and enjoyed the special favour of some 
sovereigns whose good-will was of importance to 
the Pi ince ; and as in our courts the character 
that one enjoys at foreign courts is the standard 
of the judgment of the palace, the correspond- 
ence which he carried on with the political 
leaders in foreign countries, and the abundance 
of broad ribbons of which he had the choice, 
gave him v^’ith the Prince himself an authority 
which was at the same time burdensome and 
valuable, and he was for the Court the secret 
counsellor and the last resource in difficult ques- 
tions. 

Now the servant opened the door of the 
Princess’s room with a profound bow to the 
old gentleman. Indiflerent questions and 
answers wei'e exchanged, the Princess entered 
the next room and intimated to her faithful 
lady-in-waiting by a sign that she was to keep 
watch in front. 'When the conversation was 
secure from the ear of any listener, the demean-, 
our of the Princess altered, she hastened up to 
the old gentleman, seized him by the hand, and 
looked inquiringly at his earnest countenance: 

“ Has anything happened ? No trifle could 
have caused you to take the trouble of coming 
into this wilderness. What have you to say to 
your little daughter, — is it praise or blame ?” 

“ I only fulfil my duty,” replied the old lord, 
“ if I make my appearance in order to take your 
Highness’s commands, and to ascertidn whether 
the resid nee of n y gracious Princess is suitably 
arranged.” 

“ Your Exceilence has come to scold,” ex- 
claimed the Princess, drawing bac k, “ for you 
have not a kind word for your little woman.” 

The High Steward bowed his white head 
npolog’singly : 

“ If 1 appear to your Highness more serious 
than usual, it is perhaps only the fancies of an 
old man which have intruded themselves at an 
unseasonable time. I beg permission to relieve 
myself of them b}' discussing them with your 
Highness. The health of the Serene Prince is a 
cause of anxiety to us all : it reminds us of the 
fleeting nature of life. Even the good humour 


of Prince Victor does not succeed in dissipating 
my troubled thoughts.” 

“ How does my cousin go on ?” asked the 
Princess. 

“ He overcomes the difficulties of being a 
prince in a w’onderful w'ay,” replied the High 
Stew'ard ; “ but he is sound at the core ; he 
knows very well how to manage serious things 
eleverly. 1 rejoice,” added the courtier, “ that 
my gracious Princess feels warmly towards a 
cousin who is faithfully devoted to her High- 
ness.” 

“ He has always been open and trustworthy 
towards me,” said the Princess, inditferently. 
“ But now you have punished me severely 
enough. What you have to say to me confiden- 
tially must not be carried on in this way.” » 

She laid hold of a chair, and pushed it into 
the middle of the room. 

“ Here, sit down, my worthy gentleman, and 
allow me to hold the hand of a friend when he 
tells me what makes him anxious on my account.” 

She fetched herself a low tabaret, held the 
right hand of the old lord between hers, looking 
significantly into his eyes. 

“ Your Highness knows the way of giving me 
courage to make bold requests,” said the cour- 
tier, laughing. 

“ This is more to the purpose,” cried the 
Princess, relieved ; “ I now hear the voice and 
hold the hand of him in whom I most love to 
trust.” 

“ But I wish for your Highness a nearer and 
stronger support tluiu myself,” began the old 
lord, seriously. 

The Princess started up. 

“ So it was that which occasioned your 
Excellency’s journey ? ” she exclaimed, with 
agitation. 

“ That was the anxiety which occupied me. 
It is nothing — nothing more than an idea,” said 
the High Steward, inclining his head. 

“ And is that to tramiuillise me more ?” cried 
the Princess. “ What has hitherto given me 
the power of living but your Excellency s ideas? 

“ When your Highness, whilst still in your 
widow’s weeds, was called home, the wish ot the 
Serene Prince was welcome to me, because I 
thereby obtained ti e right of carrying on this 
conversation with your Highness.” 

He motioned with his hand to the seat, and 
the Princess again hastened to place herself by 
his side. 

“ Now when I see your Highness before me 
in the bright bloom of youth, richly gifted and 
fitted to confer the greatest hai)piness on others 
and to partake of it yourself, 1 cannot forbear 
thinking that it is wrong for you to be debarred 
from the pleasures of home.” 

“ 1 have enjoyed this happiness aiid have lost 
it,” exclaimed the Princess. “ Now I have 
accustomed myself to the thought of renouncing 
much. I seek for myself a compensation which 
you will not consider unworthy. 

“ There is a difference between us of more 
than fifty years, and what is eligible for me, an 
unimportant man, could not be so easily per- 
mitted to the daughter of a royal house. 1 beg 
for permission of my loved Princess, ho con- 
tinued, with a gentle voice, “to draw aside to- 
day the curtain which has covered a dark imago 


224 


THE LOST MANUSCKIPT. 


of your early youth. You were witness of the 
scene which divided his Serene Highness from 
your illustrious mother.” 

“ It is a dark recollection,” whispered the 
Princess, looking up anxiously at the old lord ; 
“ my mother was reproaching the Prince, — it 
was something concerning the unhappy Pavilion. 
The Prince got into a state of excitement that 
was fearful. I, the little girl, ran up and 
embraced the knees of my mother ; he dragged 

me olf, and ” the Princess covered her eyes. 

The old lord made a motion to stop her, and 
continued : 

“ The after effect of the scene was ruinous to 
the life of a noble woman, and also to that of 
yourself. Then for the first time the diseased 
irritability which has since darkened the Prince’s 
spirit displayed itself ; from that day the Prince 
8,'es in you the living witness of his guilt and 
his disease. He has for years endeavoured to 
wipe away from you that impression by kindness 
and attentions, but he has never believed him- 
self to be successful. Shame, suspicion, and 
fear have continually ruined his relations with 
you. He will not let you go away from him, 
because he fears that in your confidence to 
another man you might betray u'hat he would 
fain conceal from himself. He unwillingly gave 
in to the first marriage, and he will oppose a 
second, for he does not wish to see your High- 
ness married again. But in the hours when 
dark clouds lie over his extraordinary spirit, he 
rejoices in the thought that your Highness 
might lose the right of secretly reproaching 
him. The thought that he did an injury to the 
royal dignity of his wife gnaws within him, and 
he is now occupied with the idea that your 
Highness might in other relations forget your 
position as a princess.” 

“ He hopes in vain,” exclaimed the Princess, 
excitedly. “ Never will I allow myself to be 
degraded by an unworthy passion ; it has not 
been without effect that I have been the child 
of your cares.” 

“ What is unworthy of a princess ?” asked 
the High Steward, reflectively. “That your 
Highness would keep yourself free from the 
little passions which are excited in the quadrille 
of a masked ball there can be no doubt. But 
intellectual pastime with subjects of great in- 
terest might also disturb the life of a woman. 
Easily does the most refined intellectual enjoy- 
ment pass into extravagance. INIore than once 
has a woman been in the greatest danger when, 
under powerful external exeitement, she has 
felt herself to be higher, freer, nobler than her 
wont. It is difficult to listen to entrancing 
music and to preserve oneself from a warm 
ijiterest in the artist who has produced it for 

The Princess looked down. 

“Supposing the case,” continued the High 
Steward, “ in which a diseased man, in bitter 
humour, should meditate and work for such an 
object, the sound ])erson should guard himself 
from doing his will.” 

“ But they should also not allow themselves 
to be disturbed in what they consider for the 
honour and advantage of their life ?” cried the 
Princess, looking up at the old man. 

“ Certainly not,” replied the latter, “ if such 


benefits are in fact to be gained by the playful de- 
votion of a woman to art or learning. It would be 
difficult for a princess to find satisfaction in this 
way. No one blames a woman of the people 
when she makes a great talent the vocation of 
her life ; she may satisfy herself as singer or 
painter and please others, and the whole world 
will smile upon her. But if my gracious Prin- 
cess should employ her beautiful musical talent 
in giving a public concert, why would men 
shrug their shoulders at it ? Not because your 
Highness’s talent is less than that of another 
artist, but because one expects other objects in 
your life ; the nation forms very distinct ideal 
demands of its princes. If, unfortunately, the 
royal princes of our time do not find it easy to 
answer to this ideal, yet to the ladies of these 
illustrious families the serious tendency of the 
present day makes this more possible than in 
my youth. A princess of our people ought to 
be the noble pattern of a good housewife, — no- 
thing more and nothing else : true and right- 
minded, firmly attached to her husband, careful 
in her daily duties, warm-hearted to the needy, 
kind and sympathising to all who have the ad- 
vantage of approaching her. If she has intel- 
lect, she must beware of wishing to shine ; it 
she has a talent for business, she must guard her- 
self from becoming an intrigante. Even the 
beautiful social talent of virtuosoship she must 
exercise with the greatest discretion. A well- 
weighed balance of female excellence is the best 
ornament of a princess j her highest honour, 
that she is better and more loveable than others, 
without parading it, with goodness and capacity 
in everything, and with no pretensions of any 
kind ; then she would staud too high to seek for 
conquest for herself.” 

The Princess sat near the speaker, her head 
supported on her arm, looking soiTowfully before 
her. 

“ My dear Princess does not hear me speak in 
this way for the first time. I have often felt 
anxious about the dangers which a high-flown 
spirit and active fancy prepare for you, the cradle 
gift of an envious fairy, who has made your 
Highness too brilliant and atti’active. It is 
owing to these brilliant gifts that you have not 
the same exalted nature as your illustrious 
brother the Hereditary Prince. There is too 
lively a desire in you to make yourself of value, 
and to work upon others. One can leave your 
brother with full confidence to his own good 
nature. Every instinct in the soul of the much- 
tormented child was to turn from evil. But the 
delicate artistic work of nature which now gazes 
at me with those open eyes, I have endeavoured 
constantly to guard from a fine coquetry of 
feeling. I am now the severe admouisher to 
high duties, because I anticipate the dangers 
which this love of conquest in your soul will 
bring upon yourself and others.” 

“I hear a severe reproof in loving words,” 
replied the Princess, with composure. “ I 
should marry again in order to become distin- 
guished.” 

“ My dear Highness, I wish that you may 
obtain this great aim as the wife of a husband 
who is not unworthy of your devotion. Only in 
this way can a princess expect true happiness. 
Even this happiness cannot be gained without 


225 


THE LORD HIGH STEWARD. 


Bclf-denial, I know it j it is difficult to every one 
to limit themselves. To those who are born in 
the purple this virtue is ten times more difficult 
than to othei’s. Forgive me/* he continued, “ I 
have been talkative, as often happens to us old 
people at Court.” 

“ You have not said too much, my friend, nor 
too little,” cried the Princess, much touched. 

The thought has been dear to me to live on 
quietly for myself, surrounded by men who 
would teach me the highest things that it is 
possible for a woman to acquire. On this path 
also I find tender duties, noble bonds which 
unite me with the best, and such a life also 
would not be unworthy of a princess ; more 
than one have, in former times, chosen this lot, 
and posterity respects them.” 

“ Your Highness does not mean Queen 
Christina of Sweden,” replied the High 
Steward. “ But to others also this lot has 
seldom been a blessing. Your Highness must 
remember when a princess surrounds herself 
with wise men, she means always one man who 
is to her the wisest.” 

The Princess was silent, and looked down. 

“ We have long been thinking of princesses,” 
began the old gentleman ; “ we must now con- 
sider the fate of the men who would be united 
by tender links to the life of a royal hidy. 
Granted that she should succeed in finding a 
friend, who, without unseemly pretensions, 
would devote himself with self-denial and the de- 
votion of his life to the excitable and varied life of 
a princess. He must sacrifice much and forego 
much ; the right cf the husband is that the 
wife should devote herself to him, but in this 
rase a man must fetter the powers, — nay, even 
the ])assions of his nature, — for a woman who 
would not belong to him, whom he could only 
cautiously approach at certain hours as friend 
unto friend ; who would consider him at first, 
to a certain extent, as a valuable possession and 
a beautiful ornament, but finally, under the best 
circumstances, as a useful bit of furniture. The 
greatest sufferer in such a position would be the 
artist or learned man. 1 have always felt pity 
for the walking dictionaries of a royal house- 
hold. Even men of great talent resemble then 
the philosophers of ancient Rome, who, with 
the long beard and the mantle of their schools, 
pass through the streets in the train of some 
distinguished lady.” 

The Princess stood up, and turned away. 

“ Better, undoubtedly, is the situation of the 
man,” concluded the High Steward, “whose 
position allows him to devote his whole life to the 
secret work of guiding his exalted friend. Even 
he must not only himself lose much of what is 
most delightful to life, but, with the purest in- 
tentions, he will not always be able to give plea- 
sure to his princess. He who would be more 
than a faithful servant diminishes the security 
of his royal mistress. Should such chivalrous 
devotion be offered, a noble woman should hesi- 
tate to accept it, but to endeavour to attract it 
does not become a princess.” 

Tears rushed to the eyes of the Princess, and 
she turned herself quickly to the old man. 

“I know such a life,” she exclaimed ; “one 
that has been passed in unceasing self-denial — a 
blessing to three ladies of our family. Oh ! my 
15 


father, I know well what you have been to us ; 
have patience with your poor adopted child. I 
struggle against your words ; it is a hard task 
to my to open my ears to you, and yet I know 
that you are the only secure support that I have 
ever had in this life. Your admonitions alone 
have preserved me from destruction.” 

Again she seized his hand, and her head sank 
on his shoulder. 

“ I loved your grandmother,” replied the old 
man, with trembling voice ; “ it was at a time 
when such things wei’e lightly looked upon. It 
was a pure connection ; I lived for her ; I made 
daily self-sacrifice for her. She was unhappy, 
for she was the wife of another man, and her 
holiest duties were made difficult to her by my 
life. I watched over your mother as an anxious 
servant, but I could not prevent her from being 
unhappy and dying with the feeling of her 
misery. Now I hold the third generation 
to my heart, and I would like, before I depart 
hence, to impress my life and the sufferings of 
your mother as a lesson on you. I have never 
been so anxious for you as 1 am now. If my ! 
dear child has ever felt in my words the heart of ) 
a fatherly friend, she should now not lightly | 
esteem my counsel, whatever shining dreams it | 
may dispel.” 

“ I will thinh of your words,” exclaimed the 
Princess. “ I will endeavour to resign my 
wishes ; but, father, my kind father, it will be 
very hard to me.” 

The old gentleman collected himself, and in- 
terrupted her words. 

“ It is enough,” he said, with the composure 
of his office; “your Highness has shown me 
great consideration to-day. There are others 
who also desire their share of your Highness’s 
grace.” 

There was a knock at the door. The waiting 
woman entered. 

“The servant announces thatFriiulein Gotlinde 
and the gentlemen are waiting in the tea-room.” 

“ I have still some business with his Excel- 
lence,” answered the Princess, gently. “ I must 
beg Gotlinde to represent me with our guest.” 

Evening lay over the castle tower, the bats 
flew from their hiding-places in the emptied 
room, they whirled about in circles astonished 
that they had awoke in an empty habitation. 
The owls flew into the crevices of the tower, 
and searched with their round eyes after the old 
arm-chairs, on which they had formerly waited 
for the stupid mice ; and the death-watch, which 
the learned man had carried down from the 
lonely room, gnawed and ticked on the staircase 
and in the rooms of the castle among living 
men. The rain beat against the walls, and the 
stormy wind howled round the tower. The wife 
of the learned man was driving through the 
night, flying like a hunted hare ; but he was 
pacing up and down his room, dreamily forming 
from the discov’ered leaves the whole lost manu- 
script. And again he wondered within himself 
that it looked quite diflerent from what he had 
imagined it for years. 

The wind also howled round the royal castle 
in the capital, and large drops of rain beat 
against the window ; there, also, the powers of 
nature raged and demanded entrance into the 


226 


THE LOST MAXUSCHIPT. 


firm fortress of man. The darkness of tlie 
night scorned to pervade the halls and the de- 
corated rooms like a gloomy smoke ; only the 
lamps in the pleasure grounds threw their pale 
light through the window, and made the deso- 
late look of the room still more sorrowful. The 
melancholy tones of the castle clock sounded 
through the house, announcing that the first 
hour of the new day was come. Silence, deso- 
late silence, everywhere ; only a pale glimmer 
from the distance on the covers of the chande- 
liers and the golden ornaments of the walls. 
Sometimes there was a crackling in the parquet 
of the ground floor, and a draught of wind blew 
through an open pane upon the curtains, which 
hung black round the window like funeral 
drapery. Here and there fell a scanty ray of 
light on the wall, where hung the portraits of 
the ancestors of the royal house in the dress of 
their time. Many generations had dwelt in 
these rooms ; stately men and beautiful women 
had danced here. Wine had been poured out in 
golden goblets ; gracious words, festive speeches, 
and the soft murmur of love, had been heard 
here; the splendour of every former time had 
been outdone by tbe richer adornment of 
later ones. But everything had vanished and 
withered ; the darkness of night and of death 
hung over the varied colours. All those who 
had once moved about and rejoiced in the bril- 
liant throng, had passt-d away into the depths. 
Nothing now remained of these hours but a sor- 
rowful emptiness and dismal stillness. A single 
figure glided about on the smooth floor, noiseless 
like a ghost. It was the lord of this castle ; his 
head bent forwjird as in a dream, he passed along 
by the pictures of his ancestors. 

“ The shy doe luts escaped,” he whispered ; 

the panther made too short a spring : howling 
he creeps back into his cavern with sunken head. 
Great cats cannot conceal their claws. The 
chase is over ; it is time to set at rest the beat- 
ing of this breast. It Mas only a Momau — a 
small, unknoMii, human life. But the juggler. 
Fancy, had bound my senses to her ; to her 
alone belonged M'hatever remained in me of 
warmth and devotion to human nature.” 

He stopped before a picture, on M'hich fell the 
gloomy light of an expiring lamp. 

“You, old man in armour, know’ M’hat the 
feeling is of him m ho flies from home and court, 
and has to give up to his enemy Mhat is dear to 
him. When you fled from the castle of your 
fathers, a homeless fugitive, pursued by a pack 
of foreign mercenaries, there was misery in 
your heart, and you threM' back a M ild curse 
behind you. Still poorer does your descendant 
feel, M’ho noM’ glides fleeting through the in- 
heritance that you have lelt him. To you 
remained hope in a hard heart ; 1 have to-day 
lost all for Mhich it M as M'orth the trouble of 
breathing. She has escaped my watchers. 
Where to ? To her father’s house on the rock ! 
Cursed be the hour M'hen 1, deceived by her 
words, sent the boy among her hills.” 

He glided further. 

“ The third station on the road to the end,” 
he meditated, “ is idle and empty play, and 
boyish tricks. So said the learned pedant. It 
coincides ; I am transformed into a childish 
caricature of my nature. Miserable Mas the 


texture of the net M hich I drcM' around her ; a 
firm Mill could break it in a moment. He M’as 
right ; the game M as childish : by a stroke of a 
paint-brush I M'ished to hold him fast, and, 
before the art of the Magister had produced its 
eflect, I disturbed the success of the plan by 
the trembling haste of my passion. When the 
news comes to him that his M ife has fled, he 
also M ill fasten up his books, and mock me at a 
safe distance. Bad player, who approached the 
gaming-table M-ith a good plan, to put puece 
after piece on the green cloth, and who in his 
madness flung doM'u his purse and lost all in 
one throw. Curse upon him and me ! He must 
not go aM-ay from me; he must not see her. 
Yet, M hat use is there in keeping him, unless I 
encase his limbs in iron, or conceal his body 
below, where we shall all be concealed M-hen 
others obtain the poM'er of doing M hat they M’ill 
M'ith us ? You lie. Professor, M’hen you com- 
pare me to your old Emperors. I am alarmed 
at the thought of things M hich they did laugh- 
ing, and my brain rel'uses to think of M hat M as 
once commanded by a short gesture of the hand. 
A ball and dice for tM O,” he continued ; “ that 
is a merry game, invented by men like me, and 
as it turns up, one falls and the other goes aM ay 
clear. We Mill throM’ the dice. Professor, which 
of us shall do his opponent the last service, and 
I M’ill bow to you, dreamer, if 1 am the fortunate 
one that is carried to i*est. Does thy M’it, philo- 
sopher, extend far enough to see ihy fate, as 
happened to that old astrologer, of M’hom thy 
Tiberius inquired after his om u future ? Let 
us try hoM' M’ise you are.” 

He again stood still, and looked disquieted on 
the dark pictures. 

“ You shake your heads, you old men on the 
Mall, many of you have done injury to others; 
but you are all honourably interred, M’ith mourn- 
ing marshals and funeral horses. Songs have 
been sung in your honour, and learned men have 
framed Latin elegies, and sighed that the golden 
shoM'er has ceased that fell upon them from 
your hands. '1 here stands one of you,” he ex- 
claimed, gazing with fixed eyes on a corner ; 

“ there hovers the spirit of M oe, the dark shadow 
that passes through this house M’hen misfortuue 
approaches it — guilt and atonement. It passes 
along bodiless to frighten fools, an apparition of 
my diseased mind. I see it raise its hand — it 
scares me, and I am terrified at the image of 
my oM-n brain. Au ay ! ” he called out, aloud, 

“ aM’ay ! I am the lord of this house.” 

He ran through the room and stumbled ; the 
black shadow hastened behind him. The Prince 
fell upon the flcxir. He cried aloud for help 
through the desolate space. A confidential ser- 
vant hastened from the anteroom of the Prince. 
He found his master lying on the ground. 

“ I heard a yelling cry,” said the Prince, 
raising himself up ; “ M’ho has been screaming 
over my head ?” 

Th^ servant replied, trembling : 

“ I know not vi ho it is. I heard the cry, and 
hastened hither.” 

“ It Mas myself,” the Prince said, in a falter- 
ing tone; “ my weakness overcame me.” 

In the early morning the Professor called to 
the Castellan, and rushed up the staircase of tbo 


rHE LOED HIGH STEWARD. 


227 


tower. He went about the room, pushing in all 
directions boards and planks j he found many 
forgotten chests, but not that which he sought. 
He made the Castellan open eacli of the adjoin- 
ing rooms ; went through garrets and cellars j 
he examined the forester, w ho lived in a house 
near, but who could give him no information. 
When the learned man again entered his room, 
he laid his head on his hands; but he scolded 
and restrained himself. 

“ 1 have lost too much the cool circumspec- 
tion which Fritz said was the highest virtue of 
a collector. 1 must accustom myself to the 
thought of self- resignation, and examine calmly 
the hopes which still remain. I must not be 
ungrateful also for the little I have gained.” 

He could not sit quietly by the discovered 
leaves, but paced thoughtfully up and down. 
He heard voices in the court -yard; hasty run- 
ning in the passages ; and at last a lackey an- 
nounced the arrival of the Prince, and that he 
wished to see the Professor at breakfast. 

The table was spread among blooming bushes 
which lay on ti:e side of the tower towards the 
."ising sun. When the Professor entered under 
the roof which protected the place from rain 
and the rays of the sun, he found there, besides 
the household and Marshal, the forest officials 
and the Lord High Steward, who thought, with 
more disquiet than the Professor, of the sudden 
arrival of the Prince. The old lord approached 
the learned man, and spoke on indifferent sub- 
jects. 

“ How long do you think of remaining here ?” 
he asked, politely. 

“ 1 shall ask permission to return to the city 
in an hour ; I am ready.” 

It was a long time before the royal party ap- 
peared. When the Pi'ince approached them all 
present \vere struck by his suffering aspect ; his 
movements were hurried, his features disturbed, 
and his looks passed unsteadily over the society. 
He turned first to the forester, and asked him, 
harshly : 

“ How can you tolerate the disagreeable 
screaming of the daws on the tow’er ? It was 
your business to remove them.” 

“ Her Highness the Princess last summer 
begged for the birds to be left.” 

“ The sound is insupportable to me,” said the 
Prince ; “ bring a weapon, and prepare yourself 
to give a few shots among them.” 

As the custom of shooting was one of the 
regular country pleasures of the Court, and the 
Pri’.ice had, even in the neighbourhood of the 
castle, used his gun on birds of prey or other 
attractive objects, the Court thought this com- 
mission less hard than did the learned man. 

The Prince turned to the Lord High 
Steward. 

“ 1 am surprised to find your Excellence 
here,” he said ; “ I did not know that you had 
taken leave of absence for this quiet life.” 

“ My gracious master would have been sur- 
prised if I had not done my duty. It was my 
intention to have reported to your Highness to- 
day at the palace concerning the health of the 
Princess. 

“ So it was for that,” said the Prince. “ I 
had forgotten that my High Steward is never 
weary of his watchman’s ofiice.” 


“ An office that one has exercised almost half 
a century in the service of the illustrious family 
becomes a custom,” replied the High Steward. 

“ Your Highness has formerly judged with kind 
consideration the zeal of a servant who is anxious 
to make himself useful.” 

The Prince turned to the Marshal, and asked, 
in a suppressed voice : 

“ Will he remain ?” 

The Marshal replied, distressed : 

“ I could not obtain any promise, nor even a 
w ish from him.” 

“I knew it already,” replied the Prince, 
hoarsely. He turned to the Professor, and vio- 
lently compelled himself to assume a friendly 
demeanour, as he said : “ I have heard from my 
daughter of your campaign against legs of 
chairs. I wish to have some talk with you 
alone about it.” 

They sat dowm to table. The Prince gazed 
vacantly before him, and drank some glasses of 
wine ; the Princess also sat silent, the conversa- 
tion flagged, the High Steward alone became 
talkative. He asked about a bust of Winkel- 
mann, and spoke of the lively interest which 
the nation took in the fate of their intellectual 
leaders. 

“ It must be an agreeable feeling,” he said, 
politely, to the Professor, “ to be to a certain 
measure under the protection of the whole 
civilized world. In hundreds of cases the pri- 
vate life of our great men of learning passes 
without any particular events, but our people 
delight in occupying themselves in the course of 
life of those who are separated from them. If 
a happy accident brings a person into contact 
with gentlemen like yourself, he must take care 
that he does not suffer under the hands of later 
biogi-aphers for all eternity. I confess,” ho 
continued, laughing, “ that a fear on this point 
has robbed me of many interesting acquain- 
tances.” 

The Professor answered, quietly : 

“ The people are conscious that they have, 
first by the labour of students, b<^en raised from 
misery ; but the longer experience they have of 
political life, their interest in the promoters of 
our present culture will assume a more moderate 
proportion.” 

“ 1 have told the Prince that you have found 
something here,” remarked the Princess, across 
the table. 

“ There has been a remarkable discovery 
made in an old giant’s cave,” adiled the High 
Steward ; and he gave a diffuse account of a 
funeral urn. 

But the Prince himself turned to the learned 
man. 

“ Now surely you may hope to find the rest?” 

“Unfortunately, 1 do not know’ where to 
search further,” replied the Professor. 

“ What you have found, then,” continued the 
Prince, with self-control, “ is unimportant.” 

It did not please the Professor that the con • 
versation should turn again upon the manu- 
script ; he felt annoyed at having to talk about 
his Romans. 

“It is some chapters from the sixth book of 
the annals,” he replied, w ith reserve. 

“ When your Highness was at Pompeii,” 
interposed the High Steward, “ the inscription! 


228 


THE LOST MANUSCEIFr. 


on the walls excited your attention. In those 
days a beai’tiful treatise upon the subject came 
into my hands j it is attractive to observe the 
lively people of lower Italy in the unrestrained 
expression of their love and their hatred. One 
feels oneself transplanted as vividly into the old 
time by the naive utterances of the common 
people, as if one took a newspaper in one^s hand 
that had been written centuries ago. If any 
one had told the citizens of Pompeii that at the 
end of eighteen centuries it would be known 
who they, in accidental ill-humour, had treated 
with hostility, they would hardly have believed 
it. We indeed are more cautious.” 

“ That was the hatred of the common people,” 
replied the Prince, absently. “ Tacitus knew 
nothing of that, he only concerned himself 
about the scandal of the Court. Probably he 
also held office.” 

The Princess looked uuquietly at the Prince. 

“Is there anything in the contents of the 
parchment leaves which would be interesting to 
us ladies ?” she said, endeavouring to turn the 
convei’sation. 

“ Nothing new,” replied the learned man. 
“ As I had the honour of telling your Highness, 
the same passage was already known to us from 
an Italian manuscript : it is about small events 
in the Roman senate.” 

“Quarrels of the assembled fathers,” inter- 
posed the Prince, carelessly. “ They were 
miserable slaves. Is that all ?” 

“ At the end, there is another anecdote of the 
hist years of Tiberius. The distui’bed mind of 
the prince clung to astrology : he called astro- 
logers to him to Capri, and caused those to be 
cast into the sea whom he suspected of deceit. 
Even the prudent Trasyllus was taken to him 
over the fatal rock path, and he announced the 
concealed secret of the Imperial life. Then the 
Emperor furtively asked of him whether he 
knew M'hat would happen to himself that day ? 
The philosopher inquired of the stars, and called 
out, trembling : * My situation is critical ; I see 
myself in danger of death." At this passage 
our fragment breaks off. The incident may 
have been repeated — the same anecdote attaches 
to more than one royal life.’" 

A couple of daws flew round the battlements 
of the tower, they cawed and screamed, and told 
one another that, underneath, there stood a 
sportsman who was seeking his game. The 
Prince raised himself suddenly. 

“ There shall be an end of the screaming of 
these birds.” 

He beckoned to the forester. Tlie man 
approached, and placed a weapon in the hands 
of the Prince. The Prince placed the butt end 
on the ground and turned to the Professor, 
whilst the Princess, disquieted by the last M’ords 
of the learned man, stood aside with her neigh- 
bour, struggling for composure. 

“ The Princess has told me,” began the Prince, 
“ that you have some hesitation as to fulfilling a 
wish that we have all much at heart. I hope 
that the hindrances may not be insurmountable.” 

“It becomes me,” replied the Professor, 
delighted by the kind words of the Prince, “ to 
weigh calmly so honourable a proposal. But 1 
have other things to take into account besides 
the cause of learning.” 


“ Wliat others ?” asked the Prince. 

“ The wish of a loved wife,” said the Professor. 
A sudden convulsion shook the limbs of the 
Prince. 

“ And how do you consider your relations to 
me ?"" asked the Prince, in a hoarse voice. 

The learned man looked at the Prince, from 
whose eyes darted a look of deadly hatred and a 
glare of the evil one. He saw the mouth of the 
weapon directed to his breast, and the raised 
foot of the Prince feeling for the trigger. The 
flash of lightning impended, there was no room 
for flight, no time for movement ; the thought 
of the last moment passed through his mind. 
He saw before him the distorted countenance of 
the Emperor Tiberius, and he said, in a low voice: 

“ I stand at Capri.” 

“ The Prince is sinking,” called out the High 
Steward. 

He threw himself with outstretched arms 
towards .his master, and seized his hands. The 
Prince tottered, the weapon fell to the ground, 
he himself was received in the arms of those who 
hastened up. The Princess flew up to them, 
and looked inquiringly into the pale face of the 
learned man. 

“ The Prince has been attacked by a sudden 
dizziness,” answered the latter, calmly. 

“My master is losing consciousness,” cried 
the High Steward. “ How are you, Herr Wer- 
ner ? ” 

The hands of the old man trembled. 

“ The Prince lay senseless in the arms of his 
attendant, and was carried to the castle. 

The by-standers expressed warmly their terror 
at the event, and the Pi-incess hastened after 
the sick Prince. Before the High Steward fol- 
lowed, he said to the Professor, whilst giving him 
a searching look : 

“ It is not the first time that the Prince has 
been taken ill in such a manner. Was that a 
surprise to you ? Did you not know that the 
Prince sutlers in this way ?” 

“ I know it to-day,” replied the learned man, 
coldly. 

A few minutes afterwards the High Steward 
entered the room of the Professor, who was 
preparing for his journey. 

“ I come to beg your indulgence,” began the 
High Steward, “ for I must trouble you with an 
acknowledgment which is painful to me. You 
have talked much lately in my presence to the 
Prince of the Cesarian madness of the Roman 
emperors. What you then said was very 
instructive to me.” 

“ I now find,” replied the Professor, gloomily, 
“ that the place was ill chosen.” 

“ More tlian you assume,” replied the courtier, 
drily. “To me it was peculiarly instructive, 
but not so much what you said as that you 
said it. I should not have thought it possible 
that any one would so acutely reason upon the 
past, and so completely give up all judgment of 
that which was around him. You then related 
to a sick man the history of his own d sease.” 

“ I have just discovered this,” replied the 
learned man. 

“ The Prince is diseased in mind. It is now 
neccssai'y that you should know it. I have a 
second confession to make to you. It turns out 
that I have falsely judged you.” 


THE LORD HIGH STEWARD. 


229 


*I shall be glad if your present opinion is 
more favourable to me than the former one,” 
replied the Professor, with dignity. 

“ In your point of view, yeo,” continued the 
High Steward. “ 1 have for a long time con- 
sidered you in your relations here as a cautious 
man, who was following out cleverly his objects. 
I have learnt that you are not that, but some- 
thing different.” 

“ An honourable man, your Excellence,” re- 
plied the Professor. 

“ We have nothing to reproach one another 
with,” rejoined the coui’tier, bowing; “as you 
misjudged the Prince, so did I misunderstand 
you ; but my mistake is the gi-eater, for I am an 
older man, and I have not the excuse of a speci- 
ally intellectual mind, which sometimes makes 
it difficult to a man to judge correctly of other 
natures. But we have both one excuse. It is 
seldom easy to form a just estimate of those who 
have grown up in other circles, and show a 
different combination of virtues and weaknesses. 
We are .all liable to be confused in our judgment, 
according as our self-respect is contented or 
wounded. Wliere our genial tendencies are re- 
pelled one withdraws in displeasure, and where 
powei'ful tones echo sympathetically to one’s 
breast one is in danger of too rapid intimacy. 
Thus I have valued too low your honourable in- 
dependence. I now pay the penalty, for I have 
to confide to you a secret that I have no doubt 
you will accept with a high feeling.” 

“ I assume that your Excellence does not make 
this communication to me without a specific 
cause.” 

“ There is a plan for keeping you in our city,” 
interposed the High Steward. 

“ Proposals of this nature have been made to 
me since yesterday.” 

The High Steward continued : “ It is not 
necessary for me to be anxious about your 
answer. You have learnt the meaning which is 
concealed under a veil of civility. Do you know 
why the Prince made you the proposal ?” 

“ Ko ; up tc this morning I have not doubted 
that a certain personal feeling of kindness, and 
the view' that 1 might be useful here, were the 
motives.” 

“ You are mistaken,” replied the High Stew- 
ard. “It is not a wish to keep you here merely 
for passing private interests. The real motive 
is, as appears to me, the freak of a diseased mind, 
wliich sees in you an opponent, and fears a 
sharp-sightedness that w'ill remorselessly disclose 
to the world a diseased spirit. You were to be 
bound fast here; you w'ere to be cajoled, w'atched, 
and persecuted. You are an object of interest, 
of fear, and of aversion.” 

The Profes.'or rose. 

“ What 1 have experienced and what you tell 
me compel me to leavs this place instantly.” 

“1 do not wish,” said the High Steivard, 
“ that you should depa.'t from here with a feel- 
ing of annoyance, if this can he avoided ; both 
on your own account and fi;r the sake of many 
of us.” 

The Professor w'ent to the table, on which lay 
the parchment leaves. 

“ 1 beg your indulgence if I do not regain my 
composure immediately. Ihe situation in which 
we arc placed is like that of a distant century ; 


it stands in fearful contrast with the cheerful 
security with which w'e are wont to consider our 
ow’n lives and the souls of our contemporaries.” 

“ Cheerful security ?” asked the High Stew'- 
ard, sorrowfully. “In courts, at least, you 
must not seek this, nor under any circumstances 
in which the individual passes out of private 
life. Cheerful security ! I might ask whether 
we have it in this century ? It w’ould be diffi- 
cult to find a time in wdiich there is so mucli 
that is insecure; in w’hich the old is so de- 
cayed, and the new so w'eak.” 

The Professor raised his head, astonished at 
the bitter complaints of the old man. The High 
Steward continued, indignantly : 

“ I hear everywhere of the hopes that one has 
in the nation, and I see an abundance of young 
student-like confidence. There is not much 
mature pow'er, but I do not blame a sanguine 
man if he places his hopes on it; nay, 1 even 
admit that this youthful spirit is in fact the best 
hope that w'e have. But I am an old man ; I can- 
not among these novelties find anything that com- 
mands my respect, where they affect the interests 
of private life. I feel the decay of vital power 
in the air which surrounds me. My youth fell 
at a time when the best culture of the nation 
was to be found at Court. My own ancestors 
have for six centuries taken an eager part in the 
follies and crimes, and also in the pride, of their 
times ; and I have gi’own to be a man in the 
conception that princes and nobles were the 
bora leaders of the nation. I see with sorrow 
that they have for long, perhaps for ever, lost 
this lead. Much of what you lately said suits 
exactly with the last years that I have passed 
through. It has been a sorrowful time ; the 
hollow weakness in the life of the people has in 
a great measure deteriorated the higher classes. 
But there has not been altogether a deficiency 
of honourable and powerful men. What time 
has been entirely without them ? But what 
should be the noblest blossom of the national 
strength is just what in this empty shallow time 
is most deeply diseased.” 

The Professor interposed ; 

“ Is it a ground for sorrow that where, perhaps, 
the individual loses, the whole gains ?” 

“ Undoubtedly not,” replied the courtier; “if 
only the gain to the whole w’as certain. But I 
see with astonishment that the greatest concerns 
of the nation are carried on, on all sides, with 
scholar-like pettiness. Much that is valuable is 
lost ; nothing better is gained. The delicacy of 
feeling which formerly expressed itself bene- 
ficially in all forms of intercourse, and the dis- 
creet management of important affairs, become 
rare. If these advantages did not suffice to 
form the character, as is perhaps needed in the 
present, they made life pleasing and beautiful. 
A secure feeling of superiority, and a gracious 
rule over others, was general at courts and in busi- 
ness; of this we are deprived. Diplomacy has 
ceased to be distinguished. One sets bluntly to 
work ; not only nobleness of feeling, but even 
the pleasing show of it is wanting ; an uncertain 
pettiness, a grumbling, irritable, reserved cha- 
racter has taken the upper hand at courts, and 
in diplomacy ill-bred frivolity, without know- 
ledge and without manly will. Our prince* 
rattle about like accoutred idlers ; the old Coturt 


230 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


discipline is lost, and one feels oneself incessantly 
on the defensive, and seeks for safety in sense- 
less attacks. It is impossible not to feel that 
by these acts one is going irretrievably down- 
wards.” 

The Professor smiled at the sorrow of the old 
lord. 

“ I do not blame you,” continued the High 
Steward, “ if you do not feel the misfortune of 
this change as deeply as I do. It is only a pity 
tliat it should be always the highest earthly 
interests which are thus trifled with.” 

“ But is this misfortune so general ?” replied 
the Professor. 

“ There have not been wanting some splendid 
exceptions,” said the High Steward ; “ some 
were granted us at a time when we played the 
greatest tragedy before the world, as if to pre- 
serve here and there a bright romance. They 
have scarcely been wanting in a country whicli 
possesses the five qualities which are necessary 
to form a good court : an upright sovereign, 
an amiable princess, a high-minded statesman, 
some intellectual court ladies, and a superior 
spirit among the cavaliers. But these requisites 
are seldom found.” 

“ Were they ever frequent ?” 

“ They were the pride of our nation at the 
time from which my earliest recollections date,” 
replied the High Steward. 

“ J ust at that time we gained something else 
of which we may still be proud,” rejoined the 
learned man. “ There was a short period during 
Avhich the Court became the asylum of the most 
libei-al culture of the time, and it was only 
through the rare political circumstances of our 
nation that this leadership was possible. Now 
it has passed into other circles, and we have ex- 
changed the increased capacity of many for the 
distinguished culture of individuals.” 

“In this also there is a loss,” exclaimed the 
High Steward ; “distinguished men have become 
rare. I am ready to acknowledge the advance 
which the citizen classes have made in the last 
fifty years. But the capacity which the people 
develop in the course of traffic is seldom united 
with secure self-respect, nay, seldom also with 
that firmly -established position which is neces- 
sary to political strength. Too frequently we 
find a wavering betwixt discontented insolence 
and over-great subserviency ; covetousness 
abounds, and self-sacrifice is small. Wealth 
increases everywhere ; who can deny that ? But 
not in the same degree a comprehension of the 
highest interests of the nation.” 

“ Times will improve,” rejoined the learned 
man, “and the sons will become tinner and 
freer, and our future belongs to those who work 
laboriously.” 

“ Much may be lost,” said the High Steward, 
“ before the improvement which you expect 
becomes great enough to adapt that struggling 
portion of the people you speak of to rule. I 
am too old to nourish myself with hopes, and 
therefore cannot adopt your sanguine conception 
of our situation. 1 wish for the good of our 
nation, in whatever way it may come. I know 
it has gone through worse than its present tot- 
tering betwixt a decaying and a rising culture. 
But I feel that the air in which 1 live becomes 
more sultry ; the excitement of contrast more 


dangerous. When I look back on a long life, I 
sometimes feel horror at the moral pestilence 
that I have contemplated. It was not a time 
of gigantic vices like your Imperial period, but 
it was a time in which, after short poetic dreams, 
the weakness of petty souls ruled and brought 
distraction. The figures which in this lament- 
able time have passed away will appear to pos- 
terity, not fearful, but grotesque and con- 
temptible. You, Herr IVofessor, live in a new 
period, when a younger generation awkwardly 
endeavours to rise. I have no sympathy for the 
new style. I have not the courage to hope, for 
I have no capacity to advance the culture of the 
younger generation.” 

He had risen. The old man and the young 
vigorous man, the diplomat and the learned man, 
stood opposite to each other ; the one an advo- 
cate for the world which was tending downwards ; 
the other a proclaimer of teaching which was 
unceasingly to renew the old world ; secret 
sorrow lay on the calm countenance of the old 
man, and feeling, vigorous feeling, Morked i’l 
the animated features of the younger : a high 
mind and a refined spirit were visible in the 
open countenances of both. 

“ What we had to say to one another,” con- 
tinued the High Steward, “ is said. I have 
endeavoured to make amends for my mistake in 
regard to you. May the gossiping openness with 
which I have yielded myself up to your judg- 
ment be some small compensation for my having 
been so long silent. It is the best satisfaction 
that 1 can give to a man of your sort. As 
respects the diseased state of mind of another 
from whom we have separated, there need be no 
further words between us ; both of us will en- 
deavour to do what is our duty concerning the 
men that are entrusted to our care, to preserve 
them from danger and to guard ourselves. Herr 
Werner, farewell. May the occupation which 
you have chosen preserve your joyful confidence 
in your time and your generation for as many 
years as 1 bear on my head. This highest hap- 
piness of man, I, an insignificant individual, 
have painfully felt the want of, as did your gi-eat 
Roman.” 

“ Allow me, your Excellence, to express one 
request to you,” replied the learned man, with 
warm feeling. “ Often may the unpractical 
activity of us younger ones excite a bitter smilo 
in you, and the unfinished work which we 
piotieers of learning throw off will not always 
satisfy the demands which you make upon us ; 
but when you are obliged to blame us, remem- 
ber, with forbearance, that our nation can only 
bear within it the security of renewing youth 
as long as it does not lose respect for every in- 
tellectual work, and keeps its simple honesty in 
love and hate. So long as the nation renews 
itself, it may inspire its princes and leaders 
with new life ; for we are not Romans, but 
warm-hearted, enduring Germans.” 

“Nero does not venture now to burn the 
apostles of a new doctrine,” replied the High 
Steward, with a sad smile. “ May I say some- 
thing kindly from you to the Prince, as far ns in 
compatible with your dignity ?” 

“ 1 beg you to do so,” replied the Professor. 

The Professor hastened to take leave of the 
Princess. She received him in the prc'sence of 


231 


THE MAGISTEirS EXIT. 


I)cr ladies and the Marshal. Few words were 
exchanged;^ whilst she expressed to him the 
hope of seeing him again soon at the capital, 
speech almost forsook her. When he had left 
the room, she flew up to her library and looked 
down on the carriage in which was the chest. 
She plucked some flowers which the gardener 
had placed in her room, and fastened them 
together with a ribbon. 

“ His eyes looked on you, and his voice 
sounded in the room in which you passed your 
fleeting life. It was a short dream ! No, 
not a dream, a beautiful r>icture from a new 
world. 

‘‘As the woman yields to the stronger mind in 
loving devotion, her eye fixed upon his, such is 
the happiness of which I have had a presage. 
Only once has my hand touched his, but I feel 
as if I had lain on his heart, invisible. No one 
knows it, not even himself, I alone feel the bliss. 
Light, airy bond, woven of the tenderest threads 
that ever were drawn from one human soul to 
another, you must be tom and blown away ! 
Only the feeling remains that the inclination 
which drew two strangers together has been a 
blessing to one of them. 

“ You, earnest man, go on your path, and I 
on mine ; and if accident should bring us to- 
gether, then we shall bow civilly to each other, 
and greet one another with courtly speeches. 
Farewell, learned man. When I meet with one 
of your associates, I shall henceforth know that 
he belongs to your quiet community, in whose 
porch I have humbly bowed my head.” 

From the tops of the trees on which the royal 
child was looking down the birds were singing. 
The carriage rolled away ; she bent down, and 
held the nosegay with outstretched baud ; then 
with a powerful swing she threw the flowers on 
to the top of a tree; they hung under the leaves ; 
a little bird flew out, but he placed himself the 
next moment again by the nosegay, and con- 
tinued his song. Hut the Princess leant her 
head against the wall of the tower. 

The learned man drove to the city with the 
chest he had found beside him. !More rapid and 
stormy than on his coming were the thoughts 
that flitted through his soul ; he hastened the 
coachman, and an indefinite anxiety fixed his 
looks on the rising towers of the capital. But 
amidst all, he ever saw the figure of the High 
Steward before him, and heard the sorrowful 
words of his soft voice. 

“ Immeasurably great is the difference be- 
twixt the narrow relations of this Court and the 
mighty greatness of Imperial Rome; immea- 
surably great also the difference betwxen the 
troubled Court lord and the gloomy power of a 
Roman senator. And yet there is something of 
the pliancy of soul that has displayed itself to me 
this day which reminds me of a figure in a long 
past time ; and w hat he said sounds in my soul 
like a weak tone from the heart of the man 
whose work I seek in vain. For as we are en- 
deavouring to explain the present from the past, 
so do we distinguish circumstances and figures 
of a past time in the spirit of the men that live 
around us. Antiquity sends unceasingly its 
spirit into our souls, and we unceasingly repre- 
sent antiquity to ourselves according to the bent 
of our feelings.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Professor Raschke was sitting on the floor 
of his room. The bright colours of his Turkish 
dressing-gown w’ere faded ; faithful perseverance 
in scientific service had given it a tinge of pale 
grey, but it still continued to cover honourably 
the limbs of its master. The Professor had 
seated himself down by the side of his eldest 
son Marcus, in order to facilitate his study of 
the first book of A, B, C ; whilst the little one, 
tired of the pictures, w’as resting, his father 
made use of the pause to draw a small copy 
of Aristotle out of his pocket. He read, and 
made remarks w’ith a pencil, not observing that 
his son Marcus had long thrown aw'ay the pic- 
ture book, and wdth the other children danced 
round their father. 

“ Papa, take your legs aw'ay ; w^e cannot get 
round them,” exclaimed Bertha, the eldest, from 
whom, indeed, one might have expected greater 
discretion. 

Raschke drew in his legs, and as after that 
he found his seat uncomfortable, he desired the 
children to bring him a chair. They brought 
the chair, and he supported his back against it. 

“ Still we cannot get round,” cried the danc- 
ing children. 

Raschke looked up. “ Then I will sit upon 
the chair.” 

That was satisfactory to the children, and the 
noisy troop went on. 

“ Come here, Bertha,” said Raschke ; “ you 
can act as my desk.'’ He laid the book on her 
head whilst he read and wrote ; and the little 
one stood still as a mouse under the book, and 
scolded the others because they made a noise. 

There w'as a knock : the Doctor entered. 

“ Ha, Fritz !” called out the Professor I do 
not know' you now ; I must try to recollect your 
face. Is it right to set your friends aside in 
this w'ay, when a friendly greeting might do you 
good ? Laura has told me w hat has happened 
to your dear father. A heavy loss,” he con- 
tinued, sorrowfully : “if I am not mistaken, 
two hundred thousand.” 

“ Just one cipher too much.” 

“ It signifies little,” replied Raschke, “ what 
the loss is, compared with the sorrow it occa- 
sions. I should have been with you, Fritz, at 
that time. I started immediately, but a cir- 
cumstance interfered with it,” he added, embar- 
rassed. “ I have been accustomed to go to your 
street in the evening, and, in short, I got to the 
wrong house, and with difficulty found my way 
back to the lecture.” 

“Do not pity me,” replied the Doctor ; “re- 
joice with me — I am a happy man. I have just 
now found, what I despaired of obtaining, Laura’s 
heart and the consent of her father.” 

Raschke clapped the Doctor on the shoulder, 
and pressed first one hand, then the other. “ The 
father’s ! ” he exclaimed ; “ he was the hind- 
rance. I know' something of him, and I know 
his dog. If I may judge of the man by his 
dog,” he continued, doubtingly, “ he must be an 
original. Is it not so, my friend ?” 

The Doctor laughed. “ There has been an 
old enmity across the street. My poor soul has 
been unkindly treated by him, like the I'syche 
in the tale of Venus. He vents his anger upon 


232 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


me, and lays before me insoluble problems. But 
beneath all bis insolence, I perceive that he 
is reconciled to my attachment. I anticipate 
liappiness, for I am to-day to accompany Laura 
to Bielstein. On my friend’s account alone 
have I wished to start sooner on this journey. 

I cannot rid myself of one anxiety. I am dis- 
turbed at the Magister being in the neighbour- 
hood of Werner.” 

Raschke passed his hand through his hair. 
** Indeed,” he exclaimed. 

“ I have distinct reasons for this,” continued 
the Doctor. “The dealer who brought the 
forged parchment strip of Struvelius to the city 
w'as sent to me by the mother of the Magister. 
I dealt severely u'ith him, as was natural; but he 
assured me that he knew nothing of such a 
parchment, and never had sold such a sheet to 
the Magister. The anger of the man at the un- 
true assertion of the Magister has made me very 
anxious. It confii’ms a suspicion that I have 
expressed in a letter with respect to the geniune- 
ness of another piece of wu-itiug which has been 
mentioned to me by Werner from the capital. 
I cannot help fearing that the Magister himself 
was the forger, and a terror comes over me at 
the thought that he is now exercising his art 
against our friend.” 

“ That is a very serious affair,” exclaimed 
Raschke, pacing up and down disquieted. 
“ Werner trusted the Magister implicitly.” 

The Doctor also paced up and down. “ Only 
think, if his noble confidence should make him 
the victim of a deceit. Fancy what a bitter 
sorrow that would be to hinn He would long 
struggle sternly and self-tormentingly with a 
painful impression, which we should not be able 
to obliterate without great efforts.” 

“ You are quite right,” cried Raschke, again 
passing his hand through his hair. “It is not in 
him to be able to overcome moral delinquency 
without great excitement. You must warn him 
at once, and that face to face.” 

“ Unfortunately I cannot do that for several 
days; meanwhile, I beg of you to make Pro- 
fessor Struvelius acquainted with the statement 
of the dealer.” 

The Doctor went away. Raschke forgot Aris- 
totle, and meditated anxiously on the treachery 
of the Magister. Whilst so doing, there was a 
knock, and Struvelius, with Flaminia, stood at 
the open door. 

Raschke greeted them, called his wdfe, begged 
them to sit down, and quite forgot that he was 
in his Turkish dressing-gown. 

“ We come with one wish,” began Flaminia, 
solemnly. “ It is with respect to our colleague 
Werner. My husband will impai't to you what 
has moved us both deeply.” 

Raschke started up from his chair. The hus- 
band, whose emotion was only visible in his 
bristly hair, stated: “ We w'ere invited yesterday 
to the police-office, \^^len a brother of Magister 
Knips went off to America., his things were taken 
possession of on the application of small credi- 
tors, and as the greater portion of his effects 
were at his mother’s, they were taken away from 
thence. Amongst them some utensils and port- 
folios which evidently did not belong to the 
fugitive, but to his brother ; one of those port- 
folios contained tracings after the style of manu- 


scripts, many attempts to imitate old writings, 
and some on parchment sheets. The officials 
had been surprised at these, and requested me to 
inspect them. It appeared upon closer observa- 
tion that the Magister had long been occupied in 
acquiring the skill of imitating the characters of 
the Middle Ages. But from the fragments 1 
have found in the portfolio, there can be no 
doubt that he has other forgeries in his stores, 
some of which answer exactly to that parchment 
strip.” 

“ That is enough, Struvelius,” began his wife. 
“Now let me speak. You may imagine, Herr 
Colleague, that Werner at once occurred to us, 
and that we could not help fearing that the hus- 
band of our friend would get into embarrassment 
through the deceiver. I called upon Struvelius 
to write to Professor Werner, but he proposed to 
give the account to you. This method appeared 
also to me most satisfactory.” 

Raschke, without saying a w'ord, took off his 
dressing-gown, and ran in his shirt-sleeves about 
the room, searching in all the corners. At last 
he found his hat, which he put on. 

“ But, Raschke ! ” exclaimed his wife. 

“ What is the matter ?” he asked, hastily ; 
“there is no time for delay. I beg your pardon, 
Frau Colleague,” he said, observing his sleeves, 
and again put on his dressing-gown, but in his 
excitement he still kept on his hat, and thus 
attired, placed himself opposite the friends. 
Bertha, on a sign from her mother, gently took 
his hat off. 

“ A quick decision is necessary in this case,’* 
he repeated. 

“ There is no reason,” continued Struvelius, 
“ for withholding the property of the Magister 
from his mother; but, meanwhile, they w'^ould 
willingly allow you an inspection of the writings.” 

“ That I do not wish,” exclaimed Rjischke ; 
“ it would lose me a day. Your judgment, Stru- 
velius, satisfies me.” 

There was some further excited interchange of 
views, and the visitors left. Again Raschke 
rushed storm ily about, so that the skirts of his 
dressing-gown flew over the chairs. 

“ Dear Aurelia, do not be frightened ; I have 
come to a decision. I wdll travel to-morrow.” 

Frau Raschke clasped her hands together. 

“ What are you thinking of, Raschke ?” 

“ It is necessary,” he said. “ I despair of 
shaking the Arm views of Werner by letter. 
My duty is to try whether persuasive words and 
detailed representations will have greater effect. 
I must know in what relation my friend stands 
to the Magister. From certain intimations of 
the Doctor, 1 fear the worst from the activity of 
the forger. I have some three days before me, 
and I cannot employ them better.”* 

“ But, Raschke, you wish to travel ! ” asked his 
wife, reproachfully. “ How can you engage iu 
such a thing ?” 

“ \ou mistake me, Aurelia; in our city I am 
certainly sometimes uncertain, but in foreign 
parts I always find my way.” 

“ Because you have never yet been alone iu 
foreign pirts,” replied the prudent wife. 

Raschke approached her, and raised his hand 
warningly. 

“ Aurelia, it is a question of a friend, and ono 
must pay no regard to trifles.” 


THE MAGISTER’S EXIT. 


233 


" ^ on n ill never arrive there,” rejoined his 
wife, with sad foreboding. 

“ It is much easier to fly through half the 
world in a secure vessel than to go on two legs 
through the streets ; half acquaintances are the 
most inconvenient.” 

“ Then the money for the journey, Easchke ?” 
whispered Frau Aurelia, in a low voice, on 
account of the children. 

“ You have in your linen cupboard an old 
black savings box,” replied Easchke, slily. “ Do 
you think 1 know' nothing of it ?” 

“ What I have collected in that is for a new’ 
dress coat.” 

“ You wish to take aw’ay from me my dress 
coat ?” asked Easchke, indignantly ; “ it is well 
that I have made the discovery. Now’, I would 
travel to the capital even if 1 had no occasion 
for it. Out with the box.” 

Frau Aurel'.a went slowly, brought the 
savings box, and laid it, w’ith silent reproach, in 
his hands. The Professor tossed the money, 
together with the box, into his breeches pocket, 
threw his arm round his wife, and kissed her on 
the forehead. 

“ You are my own dear w ife,” he exclaimed ; 
“ and now there must be no delay. Bring me 
Plato and Spinosa.” 

Plato was the silk cap, and Spinosa the thick 
cloak of the Professor. These treasures of the 
house were so called because they had been 
bought with the money earned by tw o books on 
those philosophers. T he impression which the 
w’orks had made on the learned world had been 
very great, but the remuneration very small. A 
commotion arose among the children, for these 
beautiful articles were in winter sometimes 
brought out for a Sunday walk. The little 
troop ran with their mother to fetch them. 

“ Be sure and bring them back, Easchke. I 
fear you may lose one of them.” 

“ As 1 have told you, Aurelia, in travelling 
you may depend upon me.” 

“ 1 will write a few' lines to Werner; he must 
take care that you keep them both. I will put 
the letter in your coat pocket, if you will only 
give it to him.” 

“ Why not ?” exclaimed Easchke, enter- 
prisingly. 

The following morning Frau Aurelia accom- 
panied her husband to the starting place of the 
coach, and took care that he came to the right 
place. 

“ If you w’ere only safe back again with us,” 
she said, piteously. 

Easchke kissed her chivalrously, and seated 
himself on his travelling bag. 

“ The seats are remarkably high,” he cried 
out, with his legs dangling. His travelling 
companions laughed, and he said, civilly, “ 1 beg 
the gentlemen will excuse me.” 

Tlie lamps burned, and the moon shone 
through the white mist on the wall of the 
Pavilion when the Professor returned there. 
No ray of light fell from the windows. The 
house stood gloomy and abandoned, and a blue 
phosphorescence seemed to glimmer over it. Ihe 
door was closed ; the lackey had disappeared. 
The learned man pulled the bell. At last some 
one came down the stairs. Gabriel appeared. 


and gave vent to a cry of joy when he saw his 
master before him. 

“ How is my wife ?” cried out the Professor. 

“ The Fnm Professorin is not at home,” 
replied Gabriel, shily. He beckoned his master 
into the room : there he gave him Use’s letter. 
The Professor read the lines, and held them in 
his hands as if stunned. This also was a 
manuscript which he had found. It informed 
him that his wife had gone from him : every 
word w’ent like a dagger to his heart. When 
he looked at Gabriel he perceived that he did 
not yet know all. The seiw'ant gave him an 
account. The learned man pushed the chair 
from him ; his limbs trembled as in fever. 

“We will leave this house immediately,” he 
said, faintly ; “ collect every thing together.” 

Like a Eomish priest who prays in secret 
devotion to his God, he had veiled his head 
from the sounds which sought to penetrajte his 
soul from the external world. He had closed 
his ears and eyes to the figures which circulated 
around him. Now fate had torn the veil from 
his head. 

“ Herr Hummel would not depart before your 
arrival,” continued Gabriel ; “he is in haste.” 

“ I go to his inn ; follow me,” said the Pro- 
fessor ; “ but first mention at the castle that I am 
gone.” 

He turned aw’ay and left the house. As he 
passed by the castle, he cast a wild look on the 
windows of the room which the Prince inhabited. 
“ He is not returned yet ; patience,” he mur- 
mured. He then went, as if in a state of stupor, 
to the inn. He ordered a room, and inquired 
after his landlord. Immediately afterwards 
Herr Hummel came to him. 

“A good report,” began the latter, in his 
softest tone; “a messenger from the Crown 
Inspector brings me an account they have all 
made a safe journey. It must have been from 
caution that there is no letter for you.” 

“ It was indeed from caution,” repeated the 
learned man, and his head sank heavily on his 
breast. 

Herr Hummel seated himself close to him, 
and spoke low' in his ear. At the last words the 
Professor sprang up in terror, and a groan 
sounded through the room. 

“ A man is no owl,” declared Herr Hummel, 
pacifyingly ; “ and it w'ould be unjust to expect 
of him that he should be able to distinguish in 
the darkness the head and tail ot a rat ; but 
every householder knows also that there are 
worthless contrivances of architecture. These 
intimations I only make to you, not to any one 
else. 1 announced myself some days ago to your 
father-in-law. Fritzchen Hahn has, in your 
absence, become a Doctor Faustus, who will carry 
ofi' my poor child under his fiend’s cloak to Biel- 
steii-. May I announce your arrival there ?” 

“Say,” replied the learned man, gloomily, 
“ that I will come as soon as I am free from 
here.” 

He held Herr Hummel firmly by the hand, as 
if he did not like to part from the confidant of 
his wife, and led him down to the hall. New’ 
travellers had arrived there, and a ^ little gentle- 
man in a cloak and a beautitul silk travelling 
cap, turned, without looking from under a large 
umbrella, to the Professor, and said • 


231 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


“ I should he much ohlicred if you would show 
me to a room, waiter. Am 1 here iu the right 
place ?” 

He mentioned the name of the city ; the Pro- 
fessor took the gentleman’s travelling bag from 
him, seized him by the arm without saying a 
word, and took him quickly up the stairs. 

“ Veiy polite,” exclaimed Raschke, ” 1 thank 
you sincerely, but I am not at all tired; my only 
wish is to speak to Professor Werner. Can you 
manage that for me ?” 

Werner opened his room, took off his cap, and 
embraced him. 

“ My dear colleague,” cried Raschke, “ I am 
the most fortunate traveller in the world : 
usually a pilgrim on the high road is contented 
if no nhsfortune happens to him, but I have met 
in the carriage with modest-thinking men. The 
conductor on changing carriages carried my 
cap after me, and accompanied me to this house ; 
and now when, for the first time, I stand on my 
own feet, I find myself iu the arms of him whom 
1 came to see. It is a pleasure to travel, col- 
league : at every mile one observes how good 
and warm-hearted the nation is iu which we 
live. We are fools that we do not carry on 
our lectures in carriages ; the anxieties of our 
wives are unjustifiable; a man can manage by 
himself.” 

Thus did Raschke triumph. 

“ Who lives in this room — I or you ?” 

“ Here or there, as you please,” replied 
Werner. 

“ Then with you ; for, friend, I wish as little 
as possible to be without you.” 

*• You come to a man who is in need of con- 
solation,” said the learned man. “ My wife is 
with her lather; I am alone,” he added, with 
faltering voice. 

“ You look to me like a wanderer who draws 
his cloak around him in bad weather,” ex- 
claimed Raschke ; “ therefore what I bring you 
u ill not at least disturb you from cheerful re- 
lK)se. My business as messenger is to lower a 
human soul iu your eyes; that is hard for us 
both.” 

“ I have to-day experienced what would 
shatter the foundations of the strongest build- 
ing. There can little remain behind that would 
shake me : 1 am composed enough to listen.” 

Raschke placed himself by him and began 
his account. He fidgeted about on the sofa, 
slapped his friend on the knee, stroked his arm, 
and begged for composure. 

Again was a veil drawn from the head of the 
seeker, who had believed himself to be speaking 
alone with his God. The learned man was silent, 
and did not flinch. 

“ This is fearful, friend ! ” he said, at last. 

With that he broke off, and the whole evening 
he did not say a word about the Magister. 

The following morning the Professors sat to- 
gether iu VV’eruer’s room. Werner threw at last 
the two parchment sheets on the table. 

“ With these at least the Magister has had 
nothing to do. 1 myself fetched them out of 
the old rubbish : there lies the mass-book on the 
chest; it requires self-control to look at the 
dearly-bought acquisition.” 

Raschke examined the parchment. 

“ Very important,” he exclaimed, “ if it is 


real, as it appears.” He hastened to the chest 
and examined the mass-book. “ Probably there 
was an index prepared which would tell whether 
the missal was used in the cloister of Rossau,” 
he said. I regret that my knowledge of mo- 
nastic customs does not reach to this tost.” 

He opened the chest and took up the con- 
tents. Of the absence of mind which usually 
disturbed him nothing was to be observed : ho 
looked round with sharp eyes, as if he were in- 
vestigating the dark words of a philosopher. 

“ Very remarkable,” he exclaimed ; “ but has 
the chest been cleaned out ?” 

“ No,” replied Werner, irritably. 

“ The three companions of a century’s repose 
are wanting — dust, cobwebs, and grubs ; yet 
there ought to have been something on the in- 
side of the lid or on the bottom, for the chest 
has crevices which allow of the entrance of a 
race of insects.” 

He rummaged again, and examined the 
bottom. 

“ Under the splinters of wood there hangs a 
bit of paper.” 

He drew out a mean rag of paper, and a deep 
shadow passed over his noble features. 

“ Dear friend, compose yourself, and be pre- 
pared for an unwelcome discovery. On this 
fragment there are only six printed words, but 
they are the characters of our time ; it is a bit 
of one of our newspapers, and one of the six 
words is a name well known in the politics of 
our day.” 

He laid the bit of paper on the table. Werner 
stared at it without saying a word ; his counte- 
nance was changed; it seemed as if one hour 
had done the work of twenty years of care. 

“ The things were unpacked by me and again 
put in ; it is possible that the paper may have 
fallen in.” 

“ It is possible,” replied Raschke. 

The Professor sprang up, and sought out iu 
great haste his pocket copy of Tacitus. 

“ Here is the rendering of the Florentine 
manuscript; coinparison with the parchment 
sheets will throw light on it.” He compared 
some sentences. “ It appears an accurate copy,” 
he said, “ too accurate — awkwardly accurate.” 

He held the manuscript searchingly towards 
the light ; he poured a drop of water on the 
corner of the parchment and wiped it with a 
towel ; at the next moment he flung the towel 
and parchment on the ground, and clasped his 
hands over his face. Raschke seized the leaves, 
and looked at the damaged corner. 

“It is true,” he exclaimed, sorrowfully ; “a 
writing which has been on the parchment 
six hundred years leaves other ti’aces on the 
material.” 

He paced hastily up and down, his hands in 
his coat pocket, rubbed his face with the white 
towel, and, observing the error, threw it far 
from him. 

“ I only know of one word for this,” he ex- 
claimed — “ a word that men unwillingly allow 
to pass their lips — and that word is villainy ! ” 

“ It was a villainy,” exclaimed Werner, in a 
strong voice. 

“ Here let us stop, friend,” begged Raschke ; 
“ we know that a deceit has been intended ; we 
know that the attempt has been made lately ; 


THE MAGISTEH’S EXIT. 


235 


ond ■when we put together the place of the dis- 
covery and your presence here, we niay assume 
as a fact, without doing injustice to any one, 
that the trick was intended to deceive you. Of 
the person who has practised it we have only 
suspicion, well-grounded suspicion, but no cer- 
tainty.” 

“ We will have the certainty,” exclaimed 
Werner, “before the day becomes many hours 
older.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” replied Raschke, “ this cer- 
tainty must be obtained, for suspicion ought not 
to continue in the hearts of men; it destroys all 
ideas and thoughts. But the ultimate question 
remains : For what object was the deceit prac- 
tised ? Was it the wilfulness of a knave? If 
so, the wickedness of it does not become less to 
an honourable mind, but it is not the worst kind 
of turpitude. But if it was delibei*ate malice in 
order to injure you, then it deserves the severest 
judgment. How are you with the Magister ?” 

“ It was deliberate malice to injure a man, 
body and soul,” replied the Professor, with 
solemn earnestness; “ but the doer was only the 
tool — the thought was that of another.” 

“ Hold,” cried Kaschke, again, “ no further ; 
this also is only suspicion.” 

“ It is only suspicion,” repeated the Professor ; 
“therefore I seek for certainty. I was detained 
from day to day when I wished to go to the 
country castle under trivial pretexts; the Ma- 
gister was absent not long ago for a day from 
the work which was appointed to him ; he ex- 
cused himself on the score of illness, and when 
he was profuse in his excuses I was struck by a 
shyness in his manner. There was a wish to 
keep me here for reasons which you, in the 
sphere of your feelings, can scarcely understand. 
It was hoped to attain this object by exciting 
the fanatical zeal with which I was afflicted, 
without entirely contenting it. That is my 
suspicion, friend ; and I feel myself miserable, 
more miserable than I have ever been in my life.” 

He threw himself on the sofa, and again con- 
cealed his face. 

Kaschke approached him, and said, softly : 

“ Does it distress you so much, Werner, that 
you have been deceived ?” 

“ I have confided, and deceived confidence 
gives pain ; but in my sorrow I feel not only for 
myself, but for the destruction of another who 
belongs to us.” 

Raschke nodded his head. He again paced 
vehemently about the room, and looked angrily 
at the chest. 

Werner rose and rang the bell. 

“ I wish to speak to Magister Knips,” he said, 
to Gabriel, who entered. “ I must beg him to 
tiike the trouble of coming here as soon as 
possible.” 

“ How will you speak to him ?” asked Raschke, 
stepping anxiously before bis friend. 

“ I need so much consideration myself,” re- 
plied Werner, “ that you need not fear my 
violence. I also have been labouring under a 
disease, and I know that I have to speak to one 
who is more diseased than I.” 

“ You are not diseased,” exclaimed Raschke, 
“ only shocketl, as I am. You will say what is 
necessary to him, for the rest you will leave him 
to his own conscience.” 


“ I will only say what is necessary,” repeated 
the Professor, mechanically. 

Gabriel returned, and reported that the Mii- 
gister towards evening would, when he left the 
Museum, come to the Professor. 

“ How did the Magister take the message ?” 
asked Raschke. 

“ He appeared alarmed when I told him that 
the Herr Professor was at the inn.” 

The Professor had ensconsed himself in a 
corner, but the philosopher left him no rest ; he 
kept talking to him about the occurrences at 
the University, and compelled him to take a 
part in it by frequent questions. At last he 
expressed a wish to go out, to which the Pro- 
fessor unwillingly consented. 

Werner led him through the gate of the city ; 
as they went he answered briefly the lively talk 
of his friend. When they came to the inn from 
which Use had got into the carriage of the 
Crown Inspector, the learned man began, with 
hoarse voice : 

“ This is the way along which my wife escaped 
from the city. I came early this morning along 
this same road, and I felt at every step what is 
the deepest humiliation to man.” 

“ Before her was light, and behind her dark- 
ness,” exclaimed Raschke. 

He talked of Frau Use, and now thought of 
the commission which his children had given to 
their aunt. 

Thus the afternoon passed. Werner again sat 
brooding in his room, when Gabriel announced 
the arrival of the Magister. Before Ibischke 
hastened into the next room, he pressed once 
more the hand of the other, and, looking im- 
ploringly at him, said : 

“ Be calm, friend.” 

I am calm,” replied he. 

Magister Knips had profited by the refining 
influence of the Court. His black dress had 
been made by a tailor who had the royal arms 
above his workshop ; his hair was free from 
feathers, and his conversation had been re- 
plenished with new expressions of respect. ^ He 
now looked furtively and defiantly around him. 

Werner measured the man as he entered with 
a steady- look; if he had had a doubt of the 
guilt of the Magister, he now recognised it. He 
turned away for a moment in order to struggle 
with his aversion. 

“ Examine this,” he said, pointing with his 
finger to the parchment leaves. 

Knips took a leaf in his hand, and the parch- 
ment trembled as he cast a shy look upon it. 

“ It is again a forgery,’* said the Professor ; 
“ the rendering of the first Florentine manu- 
script, and even the peculiarities of its ortho- 
graphy, are copied with a careful accuracy 
which would have been impossible to any old 
transcriber. The writing, too, betrays itself to 
be recent.” 

The Magister laid the sheet down, and 
answered, uncertainly : 

“ It appears undoubtedly to he an imitation 
of an old writing, as the Herr Professor has 
already perceived.” 

“ I found this work,” continued the learned 
man, “ in the tower of the castle in the country, 
inserted in that torn mass-book, laid in that 
chest, and concealed among old furniture. But 


230 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


you, Herr l\Iagistcr, have prepared this leaf, and 
you have concealed it in this place. This is not 
all. You have already before, in order to put 
me on a false track, placed the register of a 
chest in the old records ; you have invented the 
figures 1 and 2 for the chests. You have also 
yourself written the register in order to deceive 
me.” 

The MSgister stood with sunk head, seeking 
for an answer. He did not know on what 
acknowledgment of others this decided assertion 
was grounded. Had the Castellan betrayed 
him ? Had the Prince himself exposed him ? 
Terror came over him, but he replied, doggedly : 

“ I have not done it.” 

“ In vain do you seek to deceive me anew,” 
continued the learned man. “ If I had not 
already sufficient gi'ound to say to your face 
that you did this, your demeanour in the pre- 
sence of this sheet would be ample evidence. 
No sound of astonishment, no word of horror 
at such an attempt at forgery escaped you. 
^Vhat learned man would look upon such a 
thing and remain silent, if his own conscience 
did not close his mouth ? What have I done to 
you, Herr Magister, that you should inflict upon 
me this bitter sorrow ? Give me some excuse 
for your action. Have I ever injured you ? 
Have I ever excited your gloomy disposition 
against me ? Any reason that will make this 
abomination comprehensible will be welcome to 
me ; for I look with dismay on this going astray 
of a human soul.” 

“ The Herr Professor has never given me 
any ground for complaint,” replied Kiiips, sub- 
missively. 

“ Nevertheless,” cried the Professor, “ in cold 
blood, with indiflerence, in malicious play, you 
have done your worst to me : it was wrong, very 
wrong, Herr Magister.” 

“ Perhaps it was only a jest,” sighed the 
Magister; “perhaps it was only put in that 
way to him who prepared the UTiting. He only 
perhaps acted by the command of another, not 
by free choice, and not of his own will.” 

“ What power on earth could command you 
to practise towards another so deliberate a piece 
of knavery ?” asked the Professor, sorrowfully. 

You yourself know right well what conse- 
quences this deception may have for myself and 
others.” 

Magister Knips was silent. 

“ 1 have done with you,” exclaimed the 
learned man. “ I shall say nothing of the plan 
which this falsehood was to serve, nor make 
any further reproaches concerning the injury 
that you have practised towards a man who 
trusted in your honour.” 

He threw the parchment under the table. 
Knips seized his hat silently to leave the room. 

“ Stop !” exclaimed the Professor ; “ do not 
move from the spot. I must be silent as to 
what you have endeavoured to do personally 
against me. It is not more especially on ac- 
count of this manuscript that I have sent for 
you here. But the man whom I see before me, 
on whom I look with an abhorrence that I have 
never yet felt, is something more than an un- 
scrupulous tool in the service of a stranger ; he is 
an unfaithful philologist, a traitor to learning, 
a forger, and deceiver in that in which only 


honourable men have v right to live, a cursed 
man, for whom there is no repentance and nu 
mercy.” 

The Magister’s hat fell to the ground. 

“ You wrote the parchment strip of Struvelius ; 
that trader has informed against you in your 
native city. Your waitings are confiscated and 
are in the hands of the police.” 

The Magister still remained silent. He fum- 
bled for his pocket-handkerchief and wiped the 
cold sweat from his brow. 

“ Now, at least, speak out,” cried Werner. 
“ Give me an explanation of the fearful riddle, 
how any one who belonged to us could wilfully 
destroy all that made his life noble. How could 
a man of your knowledge become untrue to 
learning in so coarse a way ?” 

“ I was poor and my life full of vexations,” 
replied Knips, in a low voice. 

“Yes, you were poor. From your earliest 
youth you have worked from morning to even- 
ing ; even as a child you have denied yourself 
much that others thoughtlessly enjoy. You 
have in this way the secret consciousness of 
having obtained for yourself inward freedom, 
and a humble friendship w'ith the great spirit 
of our life. Yes, you have grown up to be a 
man amidst countless sacrifices and self-denials 
which others fear. You have thus learnt and 
taught what is the highest possession of man. 
In every proof-sheet that you have read for the 
assistance of others, in every index of words 
that you have drawn up for a classical work, in 
every word that you hsive corrected, in every 
number that you have written, you have been 
necessitated to bo truthful. Your daily work 
was an unceasing, assiduous struggle against 
what w as false and wrong. Yet more, and w orse 
than that, you have been no thoughtless day 
labourer; you have fully and entirely belonged 
to us ; you were, in fact, a learned man, from 
whose learning many with higher pretensions 
have frequently taken counsel. You not only 
have in your mind a mass of separate knowledge, 
but you comprehend w'ell the thoughts to whicli 
such knowledge gives rise. You were all this, 
and yet a forger. With true devotion and self- 
denial, you united malicious wilfulness; you 
W'ere a confidential and assiduous assistant, and 
at the same time a deceiver, bold and mocking 
like a devil.” 

“I was a tormented man,^’ began Knips. 
“He who has lived otherwise does not know how 
difficult it is always in serving learning to bo 
treading in the steps of others. You have never 
worked for others who knew less than yourself. 
You do not understand the feeling when others 
use haughtily, wdthout acknowledgment and 
without thanks, what one has given them from 
one’s own knowledge. I am not insensible to 
friendship. The Herr Professor was the first 
who, in the last lines of the introduction of his 
first w'ork, mentioned my name because I had 
been of use to him. And yet I have done less 
for you than any other of my old patrons. The 
copy which you then gave me I have put in the 
place of honour among my books. Whenever I 
have felt tired from my night work I have read 
these lines ; I have seldom experienced the Hke 
kindliness. But I have felt the torment of 
having more knowledge than I had credit for. 


THE MAGISTER’S EXIT. 


237 


find opportunity has failed me to M'ork my way 
out of my narrow sphere. That has been the 
cause of all.” 

He stopped suddenly. 

“ It was pride,” said the Professor, sorrow- 
fuhy, “ it was envy, that burst forth from a hard 
life against more fortunate ones, who, perhaps, 
did not know more j it was the craving for 
superiority above others.” 

“ It was that,” continued Knips, plaintively. 
“ First came the idea of mocking those who 
employed and despised me. I thought, if I 
chose, I had you in my power, you learned gen- 
tlemen. Then it became a purpose and took 
fast hold on me. I have sat many nights 
M'orkiug at it before I went so far, and frequently 
have I thrown what I have done away, Herr 
Professor, and hid it under my books. But I 
M'as allured to go on, it became my pride to gain 
the art. When at last I had done so, it was an 
amusement to me to make use of it. It was 
less for the gain than for the superiority it gave 
me.” 

“ It is easy,** replied the Professor, “ to de- 
ceive men of our sort where they are accustomed 
to place finn confidence. Where the acuteness 
that we obtain in our M’ork is not brought into 
play, many of us are like children, and he who 
is colder and wishes to deceive may easily for a 
time play with us. It is a weak glory to exer- 
cise the art of Satan against the innocent.** 

“ I knew that it was a devil with whom I was 
dealing; I knew it from the first day, Herr 
Professor, but I could not guard myself from 
him. Thus it was,** concluded Knips, seating i 
himself exhausted on the chest. 

“Thus it was, Herr Magister,** exclaimed 
Werner, raising himself up; “but thus it can- 
not remain. You were one of us, you can no 
longer be so. You have done an injury to the j 
highest good which is granted to the race of ' 
man — the honour of learning. You yourself 
knew that he who endangers this honour is a 
mortal enemy to our souls. In our realm, where 
error daily threatens the limited powers of 
individuals, the determination to be true is a 
preliminary which none can be wanting in, 
without involving others in his own destruc- 
tion.*’ 

“ I was only an assistant,” sighed Knips, 
“ and few cared about me. If others had 
esteemed me as a learned man it would not have 
happened.” 

“ You considered yourself so, and you had a 
right to do so,” cried the Professor. “ You felt 
the pride of your learning, and you knew well 
your high vocation. You knew well that you 
also, the humble Magister, had your share in 
the priestly office and in the princely office in 
our realm. No purple is nobler, no rule is more 
sovereign than ours. We lead the souls of our 
nation from one century to another ; and ours 
is the duty of watching over its learning and 
over its thoughts. We are its champions 
against the lies and spirits of a past time which 
wander amongst us clothed with the semblance 
of life. What we consecrate, lives ; and what 
we condemn, passes away. The old virtues of 
the Apostles are required of us — to esteem little 
whivt is earthly, and to proclaim the truth. You 
were in this sense consecrated, like every one of 1 


us ; your life was pledged to God. On you, as 
on all of us, lay the responsibility for the souls 
of our nation. You have proved yourself un- 
worthy of this office, and I grieve, I grieve, 
poor man, that I must dismiss you from it.” 

The Magister jumped up, and looked im- 
ploringly at the learned man. 

The Professor spoke impressively : 

“ It is my duty both towards you and others 
to speak out. What you have done to my 
fellow professor, and what you have prepared 
for similar attempts, cannot remain secret. 
Honourable men must be warned against the 
art which you have been led by a demon to 
exercise. But in this last hour in which you 
stand before me, I feel that I have done too 
little to help you against temptation. Without 
intending to be unkind, I have perhaps some- 
times undervalued you, in comparison with 
others, and have forgotten how difficult was 
your daily life. If you have ever felt depressed 
and embittered by my severity, I now atone for 
it. For when I, short-sighted, erring man, 
furthered what was to raise you out of external 
need, I participated in your guilt, by exposing 
you to new temptation here. That gives me 
bitter pain, Herr Magister, and I feel the an- 
guish of this hour.” 

Magister Knips sat exhausted and cowering 
on the chest : the learned man stood over hini, 
and his words sank like blows or the Magister’s 
head. 

“ I could not remain silent, Herr Magister, 
as you are a forger ; you can never again move 
in our circle; your career is closed by your 
transgression, you are lost to learning, lost to 
all who took an interest in your work. You 
have vanished from the place which you held 
amongst us; nothing remains but a black 
shadow. Human powers laboriously trained, a 
spirit of uncommon acuteness and fulness, are 
lost and dead to us ; and 1 sorrow over you as 
over a dead man.” 

The learned man wept, and Knips covered his 
face with his hands. Werner hastened to his 
writing-table. 

“ If you require means to maintain your 
ruined life in some other neighbourhood, here it 
is. Take what you require.” 

He threw some money on the table. 

“ Try to conceal yourself where no member of 
our community will meet you. May all the 
good become your portion, which is still possible 
for you to have on earth. But fly, Herr 
Magister ; avoid those places where one shall 
think of you wilh the sorrow and repugnance 
that the faithful workman feels towards one 
who is untrue.” 

Knips rose ; his face was paler than usual, 
and he looked distractedly about him. 

“ I need no money,” he said, with faint voice ; 
“ I have enough for my jhurney. I beg of the 
Herr Professor to look after my mother.” 

The learned man turned away, and the strong 
man sobbed. Magister Knips went to the door ; 
there he stopped. 

“ I have the Homer of 1488 ; tell my mother 
that I give you the book. Though ycu think 
sorrowfully of me, yet keep the book. It was a 
treasure to me.” 

The Magister closed the door and went slowly 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT, 


out of the house. The wind drove through the 
streets ; it struck aguinst the back of the Ma* 
gister, and hastened his steps. 

“It drives/’ murmured Knips again; “it 
drives me forward.” 

In the open square ho remained standing in 
the wind; looking towanls the clouds, which 
were driving in hasty flight under the moon, 
distorted figures hovered in the grey vapour 
and glided over his head. He thought of the 
last proof-sheets which he had read in his native 
town, and spoke, some Greek words ; they were 
verses from the Eumeuides of Eschylus : — 

“ Rush on ! rush on ! rush on ! ye messengers of 
vengeance 1” 

He went up to the castle, and remained 
standing before the lighted windows ; the four 
blacks which brought back the Prince from the 
Tower Castle to the city dashed past him, and 
he clenched his bony fist at the carriage. He 
then ran round the castle to the park side. 
There he cowered down under the windows of 
the Prince against a tree, looked up to the 
castle, and again raised his fist against the lord 
of it, and sighed. He looked up at the dark 
bough that towered over him, gtized at the sky 
and the grey flitting shadows which coursed 
along under the moon, and a aesperate thought 
passed through his mind ; 

“ When the moon vanishes it will be a token 
to me.” 

He looked long at the moon. Amidst his 
wild thoughts a Latin sentence entered his con- 
fused brain : “ ‘ The moon and the earth are but 
as little points in the universe that is beauti- 
fully said by Ammianus Marcellinus. I have 
compared the manuscripts of this Roman; I 
have made conjectures on all sides with respect 
to his mutilated text ; I have sat for years over 
him. If 1 do here, in order to vex this ignorant 
Prince, what was done to Hainan, all this pre- 
paration for my Roman would be lost.” 

He rushed from under the trees and ran to 
his dwelling. There he collected all his pos- 
sessions, put Ins small copy of Ammianus into 
his pocket, and hastened with his bundle to the 
gate. 

They say he is in the same country to which 
his brother had gone before him — far ott' in the 
W’est. 

He escaped, and concealed his head — an un- 
faithful servant, and at the same time a victim 
of learning. All his life long he had sat over 
written words ; now the living words, which 
penetrated from another soul into his, drove 
liim from his home. Day and night he had 
been surrounded with the letters of Ixioks and 
learned writings which had flowed from the pen 
on to the white sheets ; but the blessing of living 
words which pass from the mouth to the ear, 
and echo from heart to heart, had failed him at 
the right time; for what is in common use with 
us is also our highest boon. Its power is as 
mysterious to us to-day as it was to our ances- 
tors ; the generation of our literary period, ac- 
customed to contemplate tones in their imagi- 
natious, and to estimate the powers of nature by 
measure and weight, seldom think how power- 
fully the echoing word from the human heart 
rules within us ; it is mistress and servant, it 
elevates and annihilates us, it produces disease 


and healing. Happy the living being in who.so 
ear it sounds full and pure, who incessantly re- 
ceives the soft sound of love and the hearty call 
of friendship. He who is deprived of the bless- 
ing of the conversation which flows from v'arm 
hearts, wanders among others as a living being 
in whom the spirit is separated from the body, 
or like a book that one opens, makes use of, 
and puts away at pleasure. The Magister had 
sinned through written words; the sorrowful 
cry of a human voice had frightened him into 
the misty distance. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

The cattle lowed and the sheep-bells tinkled, 
and the young blades of wheat waved in the 
wind. The eldest daughter of the family was 
again walking in the house and garden, sur- 
rounded bj her brothers and sisters. What has 
become of the glad brightness of your eyes and 
the hearty child’s laugh, Frau Use ? Your 
countenance has become serious and your de- 
meanour subdued; your looks scan critically 
the men about you and the way on which you 
go, and calm commands sound from your lips. 
Your home has not made your heart light, nor 
given you back again what you lost in a foreign 
place. 

But it zealously exercises its right to be loved 
by you and to show you love; it recalls familiar 
images to your soul, and old recollections awake 
at every step ; the people whom you fostered 
faithfully in your heart, the animals that you 
brought up and the trees that you planted, greet 
you, and labour busily to cover with brighc 
colours what lies gloomily within you. 

The first evening was painful. When Use, 
accompanied by her neighbour, entered her 
home a fugitive, striving to conceal what tor- 
mented her, amidst the terror of her father and 
the inquisitive questions of her brothers and sis- 
ters, anger and dismay once more threw their 
black shadows over her. But on the breast of 
her father, under the roof of a secui'e house, to- 
gether with the feeling of safety, her old energy 
revived, and she was able to conceal from the 
eyes of her loved ones that which was not her 
Secret alone. 

Another painful hour came. Use was sitting 
late in the evening, as years before, on her chair 
opposite her father. After her account, the 
strong man looked down anxiously, used hard 
words concerning her husband, and cursed tho 
other. When he told her that even in her 
father’s house threatened her, when he 

desired her to be cautious in every step, and 
when he told her that there had been in her 
childhood a dark rumour that a maiden from 
the house on the rock, a chihl of a former pos- 
sessor, had been the victim of a distinguished 
prince,^ she raised her hands to heaven. Her 
father seized them and drew her towaixis him. 

“ We are wrong to forget in an uncertain 
future how mercifully Providence has guarded 
you. I hold you by the hand and you stand cn 
the soil of your home. We must do whsl the 
day requires, and trust everything else to a 
higher Power. As for the talk of strangers we 


BEFORE THE CRISIS. 


239 


care not ; they are weathercocks. Be calm and 
have confidence.” 

The younger children chattered innocently; 
they asked about the charming life at the capi- 
tal, they wished to know accurately what their 
sister liad gone through, and above all how' the 
Sovereign of the country had treated Use, he 
w hom they thought of as a holy Christ, as the 
uiw?aried dispenser of joy and happiness. But 
the elder ones were more cautious in their lan- 
guage without exac tly knowing why, with that 
kind of natural tact which children have con- 
cerning those whom they love. Use accompanied 
her sister Clara through the upper floor, they 
arranged the rooms for the guests who were ex- 
pected, and placed a giant nosegay of their 
garden flowers in the room w Inch Herr Hummel 
W’as to inhabit. Her brothers took her through 
the kiteheu-gardeu into the narrow valley, and 
show^ed her the new wooden bridge over the water 
to the grotto, which their father had made as a 
pleasure for Use. Use passed by the swollen 
brook, the water rushed yellow and muddy over 
the rock, it had overflowed the small strip of 
meadow by its banks and flowed in a strong 
stream down the valley to the town. Use sought 
the place where she once, under the foliage and 
wdld plants, lay concealed, when she read in the 
eyes of her Felix the acknowledgment of his 
love. This secret place also was flooded ; the 
stream ran muddily over it, the flowers were 
broken dowui and w'ashed away, the alder bushes 
covei'ed to their upper branches, and reeds and 
discoloured foam hung round them : only the 
white stem of a birch rose out of the devasta- 
tion, and the flood whirled round its lowest 
branches. 

“ The flood is passing away,” said Use, sadly ; 
"in a few days the ground will again be visible, 
and where the verdure has been injured the mild 
rays of the sun w ill soon restore it. But how' 
will it be with me ? There is no light so long 
as he is not with mo, and when 1 see him again 
how' will he be changed ? How will he, so 
serious and zealous, hear the cold wind of adver- 
sity that has passccl through his life and mine?” 

Her father watched her carefully ; he talked 
to her more frequently at home than formerly. 
Whenever he returned from the field he told her 
of the work that was doing ou the property ; he 
was always taking care not to touch on thoughts 
that might give her pain, and the daughter felt 
how tender and loving was the attention of her 
much -occupied father. Now’ he beckoned to her 
from a distance, and near him was walking a 
thick -set figure, with a large head and comfort- 
able aspect. 

" Herr Hummel !” exclaimed Use, joyfully, 
and hastened with winged footsteps up to him. 
" When d(X‘S he come ?” she called out, with 
eager expectation. 

“ As soon as he is free,” replied Hummel. 

" Who keeps him there still ?” said the w ife, 
looking sorrowful. 

Herr Hummel explained. At his report the 
wrinkles on Use’s forehead smoothed themselves, 
and she led her guest into the old house. Herr 
Hummel looked astonished at the tall race that 
had grown up on the rock : he looked wdth ad- 
miration on the girls and respectfully at the 
heads of the boys. Use did not to-day forget 


what becomes 'i good housewife to a welcome 
guest. Herr Hummel was happy among the 
country people, and delighted with the nosegay 
in his room ; he took the sprightly lad Frairz 
upon his knee, and made him drink almost too 
much out of his glass. Then he went w ith tlie 
proprietor and Use through the farm ; he was 
clever in his judgment, and he and his host re- 
cognised in each other sound common sense. 
At last Use asked him frankly how he was 
pleased with her home. 

“Everything is noble,” said Hummel; "the 
growth of the family, their curly heads, the 
nosegay, the cattle, and the domestic arrange- 
ments. It is, compared to the business of H. 
Hummel, like a gourd to a cucumber. Every- 
thing capacious and abundant, only to my taste 
there is too much straw.” 

Use was called aside by her father. 

“ The Prince is going to leave. He has ex- 
pressed a wish to speak to you first. Will 
you see him ?” 

" Not to-day. This day belongs to you and 
our guest, but to-morrow,” said llse. 

On the morning of the following day Pro- 
fessor Raschke entered his friend’s room pre- 
pared for the journey. 

“ Has the Magister disappeared ?” he asked, 
anxiously. 

“ He has done what he was obliged to do,” 
replied Werner, gloomily. “ However he may 
live, we have done w ith him.” 

Raschke looked disquieted on the furrowed 
countenance of the other. 

" I should like to see you on the road to Frau 
Use, and better still, with her ou the road back 
to us.” 

“ Have no doubt, friend, that I shall seek 
both roads as soon as I have a right to do so.” 

" Frau Use counts the hours till your return,” 
cried Raschke, in still greater anxiety ; " she 
will not be at rest till she has fast hold of her 
loved one.” 

" My w ife has long been deprived of rest 
while she was with me,” said the learned man, 
" 1 have not understood how’ to defend her. I 
have exposed her to the claws of a wild beast. 
She has found the protection from sti angers 
that her own husband refused her. The in- 
ditterence of her husband has wounded her in 
that point which it is most difficult for a w oman 
to forgive. 1 have become a weak dreamer,” 
he ex<’laimed, " unworthy of the devotion of this 
pure life, and I feel what a man never should 
feel — ashamed to see again my excellent w ife.” 
He turned his face away. 

"This feeling is too high-strained, and the 
reproaches that you angrily make yourself are 
too severe. ^ ou have been deceived by the 
cunning prevarication of a worldly wise man. 
You yourself have expressed that it is in- 
gloriously easy to deceive us in things in which 
we are not cleverer than children. ^ye^ner, 
once more 1 entreat of you to depart w ith me 
immediately, even though on another road.” 

"No,” replied the learned man, shortly; "I 
have all my life long been clear in my relations 
with other men. I cannot do things by halves. 
If I feel a liking, the pressure of my hand and 
the confidence that 1 give docs not leave a 


240 


THE LOST MAXUSCKlFr 


moment’s douLt of the state of my heart. If I 
must give up my relation to any one, I must 
have the reckoning fully closed. I cannot leave 
this as a fugitive.^^ 

“ Who requires that ?” cried Raschke. You 
only go like a man \vho turns his eyes away from 
a fi'ightful worm that crawls before him on the 
ground.” 

“ If the worm has injured the man, it is his 
duty to guard others from the danger of like 
injury, and if he cannot guard others, he ought 
to clear his own path.” 

“ But if he incurs new danger in the attempt ?” 

“ Yet he must do what he can to satisfy him- 
self” exclaimed Werner. “ I will not allow 
myself to be robbed of the rights that I have 
against another. I am called upon by the insult 
to my wife; I am called upon by the ruined 
life of a learned man, whom we both lament. 
Say no more to me. Friend, my self-respect 
has been severely wounded, and with reason. I 
feel my weakness with a bitterness that is the 
just punishment for the pride with which I have 
looked upon the life of others. I have written 
to Struvelius, and begged his pardon for having 
so arrogantly treated him in the uncertainty 
that once disturbed his life. Here is my letter 
to our colleague. I beg you to give it to him, 
and to tell him that when we meet again I wish 
to have no words upon the past, only he must 
know how bitterly 1 have atoned for having 
been severe upon him. But, however much 
patience and cousidei-ation I may require from 
others, 1 should lose the last thing that gives 
me courage to live, if I went from hence without 
coming to a reckoning with the lord of that 
castle. I am no man of the world who has 
learnt to conceal his anger beneath courtly 
words.” 

“ He who seeks to call a man to account,” 
exclaimed Easchke, “should have the means 
of getting firm hold of his opponent, otherwise 
what should be satisfaction may become a new 
humiliation.” 

“ To have sought this satisfaction to the 
utmost,” replied Werner, “ is in itself a satis- 
faction.” 

“ Werner, cried his colleague, “ I hope that 
your angry excitement will not draw you into the 
thoughtless vindictiveness of the weak, who call 
a brutal playing with one’s own life and that of 
others satisfaction.” 

“ He is a Prince,” said the Professor, with a 
gloomy smile ; “ I wear no spurs, and the last 
use 1 made of my bullet mould was to crack nuts 
with it. How can you so mistake me ? But 
there are things which must be spoken. There 
is a healing power in words ; if not for him who 
listens to them, yet for him who speaks. 1 
must tell him how I part from liim. He shall 
feel how he can swallow my words in his joyless 
heart. My speaking out will make me free.” 

“ He will refuse to hear you,” exclaimed 
Easchke. 

“ I will do my best to speak to him.” 

“He has many means of preventing you.” 

“ Let him use them at his peril, for he will 
thereby deprive himself of the advantage of 
hearing me without witnesses.” 

“ He will set all the machinery in motion 
against you that his high position afibrds him ; 


he will use his power recklessly to j’cstraln 
you.” 

“I am no screaming soothsayer who will 
attack Caesar in the open street, in order to 
warn him of the Ides of March. My knowledge 
of what will humble him to himself and his 
contemporaries is my weapon. 1 assure you he 
will give me opportunity to use it as 1 will.” 

He is going away,” cried Easchke, anxiously. 

Where can he go that I cannot follow him ?” 
“ The apprehension that you will excite in 
him will drive him to some dark deed.” 

“ Let him do his worst ; I must do what will 
give me pea«.e.” 

“ Werner ! ” cried Easchke, raising his hands, 
“ I ought not to leave you in this position, and 
yet you make your friend feel how poAverless his 
honest counsel is against your stubborn will.” 

The Professor went up to him and embraced 
him. “Farewell, Easchke. As high as any 
man can stand in the esteem of another, you 
stand in iny heart. Do not be angry if, in 
this case, I follow more the impulse of my own 
nature than the mild wisdom 'of yours. Give 
my greeting to your wife and children.” 

Easchke passed his hands over his eyes, drew 
on his coat, and put the letter to Struvelius in 
his pocket. In doing so he found another letter, 
took it out, and read the address. “A letter 
from my wife to you,” he said, “I do not know 
how it came into my pocket.” 

Werner opened it ; again a slight smile passed 
over his face. “ Frau Aurelie begs me to take 
care of you. The charge comes at the right 
moment. I will accompany you to your place of 
departure ; we will not forget the ca*p or cloak.” 

The Professor conducted his friend to his 
conveyance; they spoke together up to the last 
moment of the lectures which both wished to 
give in the approaching term. “ Eemember my 
letter to Struvelius,” were Werner’s last words, 
when his friend was seated in the carriage. 

“ I shall think of it whenever I think of 
you,” cried Easchke, stretching out his hand 
from the carriage. 

The Professor went to the castle for a last 
conversation with the man who had called him 
to his capital. The household received him 
with embarrassed looks. “ The Prince is just 
starting on a journey, and will not return for 
some days ; we do not know where he is going,” 
said the lutendant, with concern. The Profes- 
sor, nevertheless, desired him to announce him 
to the Prince, his request was urgent ; the 
servant brought as an answer that his master 
could not be spoken to before his return ; the 
learned man might impart his Avishes to one of 
the aides-de-camp. 

Werner hastened to the adjacent house of the 
Lord High Steward. He was taken into his 
library, and gave a fleeting glance at the fiuled 
carpet, the old hangings, which were covered 
with engravings in dark frames, and on the 
large bookshelves, with glass doors, lined 
Avitliin, as it the possessor wished to conceal 
what he read from the eyes of strangers. The 
High Steward entered hastily. 

“ 1 seek for an interview with the Prince 
before his departure,” began the Professor. 

“ I beg of your Excellence to procure me this 
audience.” 


BEFORE THE CRISIS. 


241 


** Forgive my asking you, for what object ?” 
inquired the High Steward. “ Do you wish 
again to speak to a sufferer concerning his 
disease ?” 

“ The diseased man administers a high office, 
and has the power and rights of a healthy one ; 
he is answerable to his fellow men for his deeds. 
I consider it a duty not to go from hence 
without informing him that he is no longer in a 
state to perform the duties of his position.” 

The Lord High Steward looked with astonish- 
ment on the learned man. 

“ Do you insist on this interview ?” 

“ What I have learnt since my return here 
from the country compels me to do so ; I must 
seek this interview by every possible means in 
my power, whatever may be the consequences.” 

“ Even the consequences to yourself ?” 

“ This also. After all that has passed, the 
Prince cannot refuse to hear me speak before 
1 go.” 

“ What he ought not to do, he will yet try 
to do.” 

“ He will do it at his peril,” replied the Pro- 
fessor. 

The High Steward placed himself in front of 
the Professor, and said, impressively : 

“ The Prince is going to Rossau to-day. The 
plan is secret. I learnt accidentally the orders 
which were given at the royal stable.” 

The learned man started back. 

“ I thank your Excellence from my heart for 
this communication,” he exclaimed, with forced 
composure. “ I will endeavour to send a speedy 
warning beforehand. I will not start myself till 
your Excellence has supported my endeavour to 
speak to the Prince before his journey.” 

“ If you seek an audience through me,” said 
the High Steward, after some consideration, “ I 
will, as an officer of the Court, and from personal 
esteem for you, immediately convey your wish 
to the Prince. But I will not conceal from you, 
Herr Professor, that I consider a criticism from 
you upon past events as very doubtful in every 
point of view.” 

“ But I am thoroughly acquainted with the 
conviction that the criticism must he made,” 
exclaimed the Professor. 

“ Only to the Prince, or before others ?” asked 
the High Steward. 

“ If the ears and mind of the Prince remain 
closed, then before every one. I shall thus fulfil 
a serious duty to all, who might suffer from the 
dark fancies of a disordered mind, a duty from 
which I, as an honest man, cannot escape. I 
must become his accuser, if quiet representations 
do not decide him. For it is not to be borne 
that the incidents of ancient Rome should revive 
among our people.” 

“ That is decisive,” replied the High Steward. 

He went to his bureau, took out a document, 
and presented it to the learned man. 

“ Read this. Will you give up a personal 
interview with the Prince if this paper is signed 
by his hand ?” 

The Professor read, and bowed to the High 
Steward. 

“ As soon as he ceases to be what he has been, 
I shall consider him as a diseased man ; in 
this case my interview with him would be 
without ainj. Meanwhile I repeat my request 
IG 


to procure an audience before the Prince’s 
journey.” 

The High Steward took back the document. 

“ I will endeavour to act as your deputy. 
But do not forget that the Prince travels to Ros- 
sau in another hour. If we ever see each other 
again, Herr Werner,” concluded the old lord, 
solemnly, “ may both our hearts be free from 
anxiety about that which sometimes one esteems 
lightly, as you do at this moment, but which one 
does not willingly allow one’s self to be robbed 
of by the caprice of another.” 

The Professor hastened to the inn and called 
for his servant. 

“ Show me your fidelity to-day, Gabriel : none 
but a messenger on horseback can arrive at Biel- 
stein in time. Do your best, take courier’s 
horses, and put a letter into the hands of my 
wife before the Court carriages arrive there.” 

“ At your commands, Herr Professor,*’ said 
Gabriel, with a military air, “ it is a hard ride 
even for a hussar; if I am not detained in 
changing horses, I trust to be able to deliver 
the letter in right time.” 

The Professor wrote in haste, and despatched 
Gabriel ; then he returned to the dwelling of the 
High Steward. 

The Prince was lying wearily on his sofa, his 
cheeks pale and his eyes dim — a thoroughly 
diseased man. 

“ I had formerly other thoughts, and might, 
if I had touched the keys, played more than one 
melody ; now everything changes itself into a 
discordant measure : she is away, she is in the 
neighbourhood of the boy, she laughs at her 
foolish wooer. I see nothing before me but the 
track on the high road that leads to her. A 
strange power strikes within me eternally the 
same notes, a dark shadow stands near me and 
points witli its finger incessantly to the same 
path ; I cannot control myself, I hear the words, 

I see the road, I feel the dark hand over my 
head.” 

The servant announced the High Steward. 

“ I will not see him,’* said the Prince, impe- 
riously. ** Tell his Excellence that I am on the 
point of going into the country.” 

** His Excellence begs admittance, it is ques- 
tion of an urgent signature.” 

** The old fool,” murmured the Prince, ** bring 
him in. I am unfortunately much pressed for 
time, 3'our Excellence,” he called out to him, as 
he entered. 

** I do not wish to make a long demand upon 
tlie time of my most Serene Prince,” began the 
courtier. ** Professor Werner begs that your 
Highness will consent to receive him before his 
departui'e.” 

**What is the cause of this importunity?” 
exclaimed the Prince; “he has been already 
here, and I have refused him.” 

** I must be permitted to make the respectful 
remark that after all that has passed, the honour 
of a personal dismissal cannot well be refused 
him. Your Highness would be the last to 
approve of so marked a violation of seemly con- 
siderations.” 

The Prince looked vindictively at the High 
Steward. 

**A11 the same, I Avill not speak to him.” 

** Besides these considerations, it is not ad* 


24!:. 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


visablo to refuse this interview,” continued the 
old lord, with emphasis. 

“Of that I am the best judge,” replied the 
Prince, carelessly. 

“ This person has become privy to certain 
things, the exposure of which, for the sake of 
the royal dignity, must be avoided, even at a 
heavy sacrifice, for he is not bound to keep the 
secret.” 

“ No one will attend to an individual 
dreamer.” 

“ What he gives out will not only be believed, 
but will excite a storm against your Highness.” 

“ Gossip from bookworms will not hurt me.” 

“This person is a highly -respected man of 
character, and will use his observations to de- 
mand of the whole civilised world that the pos- 
sibility of similar occurrences at this Court 
should be made impossible.” 

“ Let him do what he dares,” cried the Prince, 
with an outbreak of fury, “ one will know how 
to guard one’s self from it.” 

“ The exposure may yet be guarded against ; 
but there is only one last and radical remedy.” 

“ Speak out, your Excellence ; I have always 
respected your judgment.” 

“ What excites the Professor,” continued the 
courtier, cautiously, “ will become generally 
known; at all events it will produce a great 
sensation and dangerous scandal ; nothing fur- 
ther. It was a personal observation that he was 
compelled to make at the foot of the tower ; it 
was a conjecture which he gave vent to under 
the rocf of the same tower. According to his 
assertion, two attempts have been made which 
have not been followed by evil effects. On such 
grounds to provoke the public judgment of the 
civilised world is doubtful. However upright 
the relator may be, he may himself have been 
deceived. Your Highness remarks rightly that 
the eagerness of this learned man would occasion 
disagreeable gossip, nothing further.” 

“ Most admirable, your Excellence,” inter- 
rupted the Prince. 

“ Unfortunately, there is one important cir- 
cumstance in addition. With respect to that 
personal observation at the foot of the tower, 
the learned man has a witness, and I am that 
witness. When he calls upon me for my testi- 
mony and speaks of my personal observation, I 
must declare that he is right, for I am not ac- 
customed to consider half-truth as truth.” 

The Prince started up. 

“ It was I who held the hand fast,” remarked 
the courtier ; “ and because that learned man is 
in the right, and because I must confirm his 
views concerning the state of my gracious 
master, I tell you there is 'only one last and 
radical remedy.” The High Steward took the 
document out of the portfolio. “ My remedy is, 
that your Highness should, by a great resolve, 
prevent the storm, and high-mindedly consetit 
to make this declaration of your own accord.” 

The Prince cast a look on the paper, and 
flung it away from him : 

“ Are you mad, old man ?” 

“ This quality has not yet been remarked in 
.■ne,” replied the High Steward, sorrowfully. 
“If my gracious master would but weigh the 
circumstances with his usual acuteness! It is 
unfortunately become impossible for your High- 


ness to carry on the duties of your high calling 
in the way you have hithert<) done. Even if 
your Highness considered it possible, your faith- 
ful servants are in the painful position of not 
partaking of this opinion.” 

“ These faithful servants are my High 
Steward ?” 

“ I am one of them. If your Highness will 
not consent to give your royal approbation to 
this project, consideration for that which is 
dearer to me than your Highness’s favour will 
forbid my remaining in yoxir service.” 

“ I repeat the question, have you become 
childish. Lord High Steward ?” 

“ Only deeply moved ; I did not think ever 
to have to choose between my honour and my 
service to your Highness.” 

He took out another document from the port- 
folio. 

“ Your resignation,” exclaimed the Prince, 
reading. “ You should have added to it, ‘ with 
permission.’ ” The Prince seized the pen. 

“ Here Baron von Ottenburg, you are released 
from your office.” 

“ It is no joyful tbanks that I express to your 
Highness for it. But now it is done, I, Hans 
von Ottenburg, express to you my respectful re- 
quest that your Highness would still, at this 
hour, be pleased to sign the other document. 
For in case your Highness should hesitate to 
fulfil the earnest entreaties of a former servant, 
this same request would from this time be forced 
upon your Highness’s ear in many ways, and by 
persons who would not use so much considera- 
tion for your Highness as I have liitherto done. 
Till now there has been one who has begged of 
you, a professor, — now there are two, he and I, 
— in another hour the number will become bur- 
densome to your Highness.” 

“ A former High Steward, a stirrer-up of re- 
bellion 1 ” 

“ Only a petitioner. It is your Highness’s 
right to make, of your own free will, the high 
decision to which I endeavour to influence you. 
But I beg you once more to consider that it no 
longer can be avoided. Your Highness’s Conrt 
will, in the next hour, have the same alternative 
as myself; for consideration of the honour of 
these gentlemen and ladies will compel me, on 
the same grounds which have led to my decision, 
not to be silent with respect 1o them. Without 
doubt, the gentlemen of the Court will, like me, 
approach your Highness with earnest entreaties, 
and, like me, will resign in case their entreaties 
are unsuccessful, and without doubt your High- 
ness will have to find new attendants. Con- 
sideration for the honour and office of those 
who rule under you will oblige me to make 
the same communications to your Highness’s 
ministers. But these also might be replaced by 
less important servants of the State. But fur- 
ther, from loyalty and devotion to your High- 
ness’s house, from anxiety about the life and wel- 
fare of the Hereditary Prince and his illustrious 
sister, as well as from attachment to this country 
in which I have grown grey, 1 see myself obliged 
to appeal to Governments in connection with 
this for an energetic enforcement of this my 
request. As long as I was a servant of the 
Court, my oath and allegiance compelled me to 
silence and consideration for your Highness’s 


ON THE HOAD TO THE ROCK. 


243 


personal interests. I am now relieved from this 
obligation, and I shall from this time advocate 
general interests against those of your Highness. 
Your Highness may yourself estimate what that 
vvould lead to ; that signature may be put ofl’, 
but can no longer be avoided. Every delay 
makes the situation worse ; the signing will no 
longer appear as the voluntary act of a high- 
minded decision, but as a necessity forced upon 
you. Finally, let your Highness consider that the 
Professor has in the Tower Castle made another 
exciting observation, another with respect to 
the acts of a certain Magister; it is my destiny 
to know much which does not belong to the 
secrets of my department.” 

The Prince lay on his sofa, with his head 
turned away ; he felt with his hand in the 
diawer of his bureau. 

The High Steward approached nearer. 

“ Before I begged for this interview, I took 
care that after my death both my respectful re- 
quest, and the reasons which have occasioned me 
to make it, should be made public.” 

The Prince withdrew his hand. 

“ Prudence, your Excellence,” he said, laugh- 
ing. 

“ This virtue I have had occasion to exercise 
many years in your Highness’s service.” 

“ You have been my personal enemy from the 
first day of my reign,” interposed the Prince. 

“ 1 have been the faithful servant of my gra- 
cious Sovereign ; personal friendship has never 
been my portion, and 1 have never simulated 
it.” 

“ You have always intrigued against me.” 

“ Your Highness ^well knows that I have 
served you as a man of honour,” replied the 
Baron, proudly. Now, also, when I once more 
beg of you to sign this document, I do not ap- 
peal to the right which many yesirs of confidence 
gives me with your Highness ; 1 do not advance 
as an excuse for this repeated importunity the 
interest that I have been entitled to take in the 
dignity and welfare of this royal house ; I have 
another ground for I’elieving your Highness 
from the humiliation of a public discussion on 
your Highness’s state of mind. I am a loyal 
and monarchically-minded man. He who has 
respect for the high office of a prince is under 
the urgent necessity of guarding this office from 
being lowered in the eyes of the nation. This 
he must do, not by concealing what is insup- 
portable, but by extirpating it. Therefore, since 
that scene in the tower, there has been this 
struggle between me and your Highness, that I, 
in order to maintain your Highness’s exalted 
office, must sacrifice your Highness’s person. I 
am determined to do so, and thei*efore there only 
remains to your Highness the choice of doing 
that which is inevitable of your own free will, 
and honourably in the eyes of the world, or 
dishonourably by the overpowering pressure of 
strangers. The words are spoken ; 1 beg for a 
8pe(;dy decision.” 

The old lord stood upright before the Prince. 
He looked firmly and coldly into the restless 
eyes of his former ruler, and pointed with his 
finger fixedly to the parchment. He was the 
keeper mastering his patient. 

“ Not here — not here,” exclaimed the Prince, 
beside liimself. “ In the presence of the Here- 


ditary Prince I will take counsel and come to a 
decision.” 

“ The presence and signature of your minister 
is necessary for the document, not the presence 
of the Prince. But as your Highness prefers 
signing in the presence of the Hereditary Prince, 
I will do myself the honour of following your 
Highntess to Rossau, and beg one of the minis- 
ters to accompany me for this object.” 

The Prince looked reflectively down. 

“ I am still a Prince,” he exclaimed, springing 
up and seizing the signed resignation of the 
High Steward ; he tore it up. ” High Steward 
von Ottenberg, you will accompany me in my 
carriage to Rossau.” 

“ Then the minister will follow your Highness 
in my carriage,” said the old lord, calmly. “ I 
hasten to inform him.” 


CHAPTER XL. 

Towards the quiet country town which had 
originally been built by pious monks within 
sound of the monastery bells, and towards the 
rock on which once heathen maidens had whis- 
pered oracles to their race, were now hastening 
along different roads horses and wheels, together 
with living men who were seeking the decision 
of their fate; here joyful, rising hopes — there 
downward, declining powers ; here the pure 
dream of enthusiastic youth — there the wild 
dream of a gloomy spirit. In the valley and 
over the rock hovered the spirits of the country; 
they prepared themselves to receive the flying 
strangers with the hospitality of their homes. 

The early dawm sent its pale glimmer into 
Laura’s study ; she sto(xl by her writing-table, 
and cast a lingering look on the secret book in 
w'hich, with rapid hand, she had written the con- 
cluding words. She fastened the book and the 
Doctor’s poems together, and concealed them 
under the cover of her travelling box. She cast 
another look on the sanctuary of her maiden life, 
and then flew down the stairs into the arms of 
her anxious mother. It was a wonderful elope- 
ment — a quiet Sunday morning, a mysterious 
light, gloomy rain clouds, contrasting strongly 
with the deep red glow of morning. Laura 
lay long in the arms of her weeping mother, till 
Susan urged her departure ; then she passed 
into the street, where the Doctor awaited her, 
and hastened with him into the carriage; for 
the carriage was waiting in a lonely place at the 
corner, as Laura had arranged. It was a won- 
derful elopement — a modest, worthy travelling 
companion, the object of the journey the house 
of a loved friend, and, lastly, a large leather bag 
cojitaining cold meat and other provisions, which 
Frau Hahn carried herself to the carriage, in 
order that she might once more kiss her son and 
Laura, and bless them amid tears. 

Speihahn had for some days found it difficult 
to bear his lonely existence ; since the departure 
of the learned lodgers he had been much discon- 
tented, but when the master of the house dis- 
appeared there was no one to recognise him. 
This morning he cast cold glances on Laura as 
she hovered round her sorrowing mother, and 
looked askance at Susan when she carried the 


244 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


large travelling trunk to the carriage ; then he 
sneaked out into the street in order to give ex- 
pression to his hatred of the neighbouring house. 
Rut when Frau Hahn hastened with the leather 
bag of provisions to the carriage, he crept after 
the neighbour, meditating mischief ; and whilst 
she mounted on the step of the carriage in order 
to warn her Fritz of the sharp morning air, and 
to kiss Laura once more, he sprang on to the 
footboard and ensconced himself under the 
leather apron of the coachbox, determined to 
abide his time. The coachman seated himself, 
and supposing the dog belonged to the travel- 
lers, cracked his whip and set the carriage in 
motion. Another look and call to the mother, 
and the adventurous journey began. 

Laura’s soul trembled under the pressui’e of 
passionate feelings, which were called forth by 
this long-desired but feared hour. The houses 
of the city disappeared, and the poplars on the 
high road seemed to dance past. She looked 
anxiously at her Fritz, and placed the tips of her 
fingers in his hand. He smiled, and pressed the 
little hand warmly. 

His cheerfulness was a support to her. She 
looked tenderly into his true face. 

“ The morning is cool,” he began, “ allow me 
to close your cloak.” 

“ It does very well,” replied Laura, again 
putting her trembling hand within his. 

Thus they sat together silent, the sun peeped 
modestly from behind his red curtains and 
smiled on Laura, so that she was obliged to close 
her eyes. Her whole childhood passed before 
her in fleeting pictures ; and finally, she heard 
the significant words of her friend in her last 
visit. Her godmother had said to her. Return 
again soon, child; and Laura now felt with 
emotion that this return was at an immeasurable 
distance. Her other godmother had kindly asked. 
When shall we see each other again ? and a touch- 
ing echo sounded in Laura’s heart. Who knows 
when ? But all around was stirring in the fresh 
morning : a flock of pigeons flew across the field, 
a hare ran along the road as if racing, a splendid 
cluster of blue flowers grew on the border of the 
ditch, and red roofs shone from among the fruit 
trees. Everything on earth looked green and 
hopeful, blooming and waving in the morning 
breeze. The country people who were going to 
the city met them, a peasant sitting on his wag- 
gon smoking his pipe nodded a good morning 
to Laura, who held out her hand as if she wished 
to send a greeting to the whole world. The 
milkwoman in her little cart, who was going to 
sell her milk, also greeted her, saying, “Good 
morning, Fraulein.” Laura drew buck, and, 
looking alarmed at Fritz, said ; 

“ She recognises us.” 

“ Without doubt,” replied the Doctor, gaily. 

“ She is a gossip, Fritz ; she cannot hold her 
tongue, and will tell all the servant-girls in our 
street that we are driving together along this 
road. This distresses me, Fritz.” 

“ We are taking a drive,” replied the Doctor, 
triumphantly ; “ going to pay a visit to some 
one ; we are going to act as sponsors together in 
the country. Do not mind these trifles.” 

“It began by our being sponsors together,' 
Fritz,” answered Laura, tranquillised. “ It has 
all been owing to the eat’s paws.” 


“ I do not know,” replied Fritz, slily, “whether 
this misfortune did not originate earlier. When 
you were quite a little girl I obtained a kiss.” 

“ I remember nothing of that,” said Laura. 

It was for a basket of coloured beans that I 
brought you from our garden. I demanded the 
kiss, and you consented to give the price, but 
immediately after wiped your mouth with 3 'our 
hand. From that time 1 have liked you better 
than all others.” 

“ Do not let us talk of these things,” said 
Laura, troubled ; “ my recollections of old times 
are not all so harmless.” 

“ I have always been kept at a distance,” ex- 
claimed Fritz, “ even to-day. It is a shame. It 
must not go on so ; I must have some serious 
talk about it. Travelling together as we are, it 
is not fitting that we should use the stiflf you in 
talking to one another.” 

Laura looked reproachfully at him. “ Not to- 
day,” she said, softly. 

“ It is of no use now,” replied Fritz, boldly. 
“ I will no longer be treated as a stranger. I 
once heard the honest thou from you, but never 
since. It pains me.” 

Laura was vexed. “ But only when we are 
quite alone,” she entreated. 

“ In a brotherly way,” continued Fritz, un- 
disturbed, “if once always, otherwise one makes 
mistakes, and there is confusion.” 

He offered her his hand, which she shook 
gently, and before she could stop him she felt 
a kiss on her lips. 

She looked at him tenderly, but then imme- 
diately drew back and ensconsed herself in a 
corner of the carriage. Fritz was this day 
quite different from usual; he looked confident 
and bold. In the house he had always been 
modest, while Laexra had more than once 
thought of this brotherly footing, and had 
written in her book : “ When two human beings 
are united in soul they ought to let each other 
know it.” Now he used little ceremony. He 
looked boldly out of the carriage, and when they 
met travellers did not retreat as she had done 
after meeting the milkwoman, but looked as if 
challenging notice, and greeting people first. 

“ I must begin about the Indians,” she 
thought, “ in order to turn his thoughts to other 
subjects.” 

She asked him about the contents of the Veda. 

“I cannot think of it to-day,” exclaimed 
Fritz, gaily. “ I am too happy to think of the 
old books. I have only one thought in my 
heart : ‘ Laura, the dear maiden, will become 
mine.’ I could dance for joy in the carriage.” 

He jumped up from his seat like a little boy. 

Fritz was fearfully changed ; she did not 
know him again ; she withheld her hand from 
him, and looked at him suspiciously askance. 

“ The heavens are covered with clouds,” she 
said, sadly. 

“ But the sun shines above them,” replied 
Fritz ; “ it will come out again in a few minutes. 
I propose that we should examine the large 
leather bag which my mother gave us ; I hope 
there will be something good in it.” 

Thus did the prose of the Hahn family betray 
itself, and Laura observed with secret regret 
how eagerly the Doctor rummaged the bag. She 
had, however, in her excitement thought little 


245 


ON THE ROAD TO THE ROCK. 


of her brealcfast, so \\ hen Fritz offered her some 
of its contents, she put out her little hand for it, 
and both ate heartily. 

Something darkened the seat next the coach- 
man ; a misshaped head showed itself at the 
Avindow, and a discordant snarl was heard in the 
carriage. Laura pointed terrified at the head. 

Alack-a-day, there is the dog again.” 

The Doctor also looked angrily at the hostile 
figure. 

“ We will drive him away,^’ cried Laura ; “ he 
may run back home.” 

“ He will hardly find his way home,” replied 
the Doctor, thoughtfully ; “ what would your 
father say if he were lost ?” 

‘‘ He has been the enemy of my life,” ex- 
claimed Laura ; “ and must we now take him 
into the world ? That idea is insupportable, 
and a bad augury, Fritz.” 

“ Perhaps we shall meet a waggon that will 
take him back again,” said the Doctor, con- 
solingly ; “ meanwhile he must not be famished.” 

In spite of his aversion he handed him some 
breakfast, and the dog disappeared again under 
the apron. 

But Laura continued disturbed. 

“ Fritz, dear Fritz,” she exclaimed, suddenly, 
*‘you must leave me alone.” 

The Doctor looked at her with astonishment, 
fillie you was an orthographical error which must 
be atoned for. He again was about to give her 
a kiss, but she drew back. 

“If you love me, Fritz, you must now leave 
me alone,” she cried out, wringing her hands. 

“ How can I do that ?” asked Fritz ; “ we are 
travelling together into the world.” 

“ Place yourself on the box by the coachman,” 
begged Laura, imploringly. 

She looked so serious and depressed that Fritz 
obediently stopped the carriage, descended from 
it, and climbed up the coachbox. Laura drew 
a deep breath, and became more tranquil. Her 
words had influence on him, however wild he 
might be ; he would do much to please her. 
She sat alone, and her thoughts became more 
cheering. The doctor turned frequently round, 
knocked at the window, and asked how she was. 
He n as very tender-hearted and full of loving 
attentions. 

“ The whole responsibility for his health rests 
on me,” she thought, “ what his dear mother 
has hitherto done for him becomes my duty. 
A delightful duty, dear Fritz. I will keep 
him from working at nights, for his health is 
delicate, and every day 1 will take him a walk, 
even in cold weather, that he may get accus- 
tomed to it.” 

She looked out of the carriage, the wind was 
stirring the leaves ; she knocked at the window ; 

“ Fritz, it is windy, you have no shawl to put 
round you.” 

“ 1 shall no longer use one,” called out the 
Doctor, “ this elieminacy must be got rid of.” 

“ 1 beg, Fi-itz, that you will not be so childish. 
Put one round you, or you will certainly catch 
cold.” 

“ With you, I will certainly not put it on.” 

“Take it, my heart’s Fritz, 1 conjure you,” 
entreated Laura. 

“ That sounds quite different,” said Fritz. 

The window was opene«l, and the shawl put out. 


“ He is firm as i rock,” said Laura, seating 
herself again. “ Complaisant as he appears, he 
knows well what he chooses to do, and will not 
give in to me contrary to his own convictions. 
That is all for the best, for I am still a childish 
creature, and my father was in the right ; I need 
a husband who will look more calmly on the 
world than I do.” 

It began to rain. The coachman put on his 
cloak, and Fritz spread his shawl and enveloped 
himself in it. She became very anxious about 
Fritz, and again knocked at the window. 

“ It rains, Fritz.” This the Doctor could 
not deny. “Come in, you will get wet and 
catch cold.” 

The carriage stopped, and Fritz obediently 
got down and entered it, and Laura wiped away 
the drops on his hair and shawl with her pocket- 
handkerchief. 

“ You said you four times,” began Fritz, re- 
provingly. “ If it goes on thus, you will have a 
large reckoning to pay.” 

“ Be serions,” began Laura, “ I am in a very 
solemn mood. I am thinking of our future. I 
will think of it day and night, dearest one, that 
you may not feel the loss of your mother. Your 
dear mother has always taken your coffee up to 
you, but that is unsociable, you shall come over 
to me and take your breakfast with me; your 
Indians must cede this half-hour to me. About 
ten o’clock I shall send you over an egg, and at 
dinner time you will come over again to me. I 
shall take care that the cooking is good ; w’e nfill 
live simply, as we are accustomed, but well. 
Then you shall tell me shortly about your books 
that I may know what my husband is occupied 
u'ith, for this is a M'ife’s right. In the afternoon 
we will take a walk together in the strets.” 

“ What do you mean ?” asked Fritz, “ over 
there and here, and in the streets ? Surely w e 
shall live together.” 

Laura looked at him with open eyes, and a 
blush slowly mantled over her face up to her 
temples. 

“ We cannot, as man and wife, live in diffe- 
rent houses ?” 

Laum held her hand before her eyes and re- 
mained silent. As she did not answer, Fritz 
drew her hand quietly from her face, and large 
tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“ My mother,” she said, softly, as she w'ept. 

So touching w’as the expression of her grief, 
that Fritz said, sympathisingly : 

“ Do not grieve, Laura, about her, we will live 
where you like, and exactly as you think fit.” 

But even these kind w’ords could not comfort 
the poor soul, whose maidenly anxieties cast a 
shadow’ over her future. The coloured haze with 
which her childish fancy had invested her free 
life in the neighbourhood of her loved one hud 
been dissolved. 

She sat silent and sad. 

The coachman stopped before a village inn to 
refresh himself and his horses. The young 
landlady stood with her child in her arms at the 
door ; she approached the door and civilly in- 
vited them to alight. Laura looked uncertainly 
at the Doctor ; he nodded, the carriage door was 
opened. Laura seated herself on a bench in 
front of the door, and asked the young woman 
questions abont her family, in order to show 


246 


THE LOST MANUSCRIl’T, 


the self-possession of a traveller. The woman 
answered, confidingly : 

“ This is our first child, we have been married 
scarcely two years. Excuse me, but I suppose 
you are a young married couple.” 

Laura rose hastily, her cheeks glowed a deeper 
red than the rising sun, as she answered with a 
low “No.” 

“Then you are betrothed, without doubt,” 
said the woman, “one may see that at once.” 

“ IIow could you discover that ?” asked Laura, 
■without raising her eyes. 

“ One sees symptoms of it,” replied the 
woman, “as the way in which you looked at 
the gentleman, that was significant enough.” 

“ A good guess,” cried the Doctor, gaily ; but 
he also coloured slightly. 

Laura turned away and struggled for com- 
posure. The secret of her journey was apparent 
to every one. It was known in the city and was 
spoken of in the villages. Her betrothal had 
been settled by the talk of strangers. Yet her 
parents had not laid her hand in that of her 
lover, nor had any of her friends wished her 
happiness, but now the stranger on the high 
road came and told her to her face what she 
was. 

“ If the woman had known all, — how that I 
was eloping secretly with Fritz Hahn, without 
betrot^l or marriage, — how would she have 
looked upon me ?” thought Laura. 

She entered the carriage before the coachman 
l)ad finished feeding the horses, and again tears 
flowed from her eyes. The Doctor, who did not 
anticipate this change of mood, was about to 
enter, when Laura, quite beside herself, ex- 
claimed : 

“ I beg of you to sit by the coachman, I feel 
very sorrowful.” 

“ Why ?” asked Fritz, softly. 

“ I have done wrong,” said Laura. “ Fritz, I 
should like to return. What will that woman 
think of me? She saw right well that we are 
not betrothed.” 

“ But are we not ?” asked the Doctor, as- 
tonished. “ I consider myself decidedly as 
betrothed, and the friends to whom we go will 
clearly look upon the afliiir in that point of 
view.” 

“ I conjure you, Fritz, to leave me alone now; 
what I feel 1 cannot confess to any human 
being; if I become calmer I will knock at the 
window.” 

Fritz climbed again on the coach-box, aiid 
Laura passed a sorrowful hour in the solitude of 
her carriage. 

She felt something strange on her cloak, 
looked with alarm at the empty seat, and started 
back when she saw the demon sitting next her, 
the enemy of her life, the red dog. He stretched 
out his fore legs, and raised his moustache high 
in the air, as if he would say : “ Now I am 
carrying you off. The Doctor is sitting on the 
box, and I, the mischief maker, the enemy of 
man, who have caused much sorrow to this 
jioetic soul, who have been' cursed in her journal 
in both prose and verse, 1, the common and 
unworthy being who used to lie at her feet, sit 
by her side the gloomy figure of her fate, the 
spectre of her youth, and the bad omen of her 
lutux'e life, I lie in the place where, in her 


childish poetry, she has long dreamt of another, 
and I mock at her tears and anxiety. “ He liciced 
his beard and looked from under his long hair 
contemptuously at her. Laura knocked at the 
window in order to leave the carriage herself and 
sit upon the box. 

Meanwhile the mothers sat anxiously in the 
hostile houses. Since her daughter had lett, 
Frau Hummel trembled for fear of the anger of 
her husband. She knew from Laura that he 
had not objected to the journey to Bielstein, and 
only wished to appear unconscious of it in order 
to maintain his defiant character towards his 
neighbour. But of what was to follow, he 
would not give any hint ; when it came to a 
decision what was to become of Laura and the 
Doctor, she felt there uas everything to fear 
from him. Frau Hummel had promoted the 
journey in order to compel the consent of the 
family tyrant; but now she felt distrustful of 
her own cleverness. In her trouble she put her 
mantle on, over her morning dress, and has- 
tened out of the house to seek consolation from 
her neighbour. 

The heart of Frau Hahn was vexed with 
similar cares; she also was prepared, in her 
morning dress and mantle, to go over to Frau 
Hummel. The women met together outside the 
two houses, and began an exchange of motherly 
anxieties. They made use of the neutral ground 
that lay between the hostile domains for quiet 
intercourse, and foi'got that they were standing 
in the street. The bells sounded and the church 
goers returned, yet they were still standing 
together talking over the past and future. The 
comedian approached them, elegantly dressed ; 
as he drew near he made a dramatic salutation 
with his hand. Frau Hummel looked with 
anxiety at her favourite guest, she feared his 
conjectures and still \nore his sharp tongue. His 
face shone with pleasure and his gestures were 
sympathetic. 

“ What a surprise,” he exclaimed, in the tone 
of a warm-hearted uncle ; “ what an agreeable 
surprise ? The old quarrel made up ; wreaths of 
flowers from one house to the other ; the discord 
of the fathers is atoned for by the love of the 
children. I offer my hearty congratulations.'* 

“ What do you mean ?” asked Frau Hummel, 
perplexed. 

“ An elopement,” cried out the comedian, 
raising his hands. 

Both mothers looked terrified. 

“ I must beg of you, in your expressions, to 
have more regard to the real state of things,” 
replied Frau Hummel with offended dignity. 

“ An elopement,” again exclaimed the gentle- 
man triumphantly. “ Quite in conformity 
with the humour of this house ; it is a master 
stroke.” 

“I feel confident from our old friendship,” 
cried Frau Hummel, “ that you do not mean to 
insult us ; but I must earnestly beg of you to 
choose your expressions better.” 

I'hc comedian was astonished at the reproaches 
of his patroness. 

“ I only repeat what I have just been informed 
of by post.” He drew out of his pocket a neat 
letter. “ I beg that the honoured ladies will 
convince themselves.” He read aloud : “ ‘ I beg 
to announce to you the betrothal of Dr. Fritz 


247 


ON THE ROAD TO THE ROCK. 


Halm with iny (laughter Laura, and their elope- 
ment this morning from her parents’ house. 
Yours humbly, Hunimel.’ This quite answers 
to the character of our humorous friend.” 

The ladies stood aghast. Then the rustling 
of a silk dress was heard, the godmother came 
up hastily, her hymn-b(X)k in her hand, and 
called out while yet in the distance : 

” What shall one live to see ? You naughty 
people ! Is it right that the friends of the 
family should first learn from the preacher in 
the church what is passing here ?” 

“ What do you mean ?” cried out both ladies, 
quite confounded. 

“ That your children have been asked in 
church to-day for the first, second, and third 
time, 'lliere was general astonishment, and 
though you have acted in so unfriendly a way 
as to keep it a secret, all your acquaintances were 
delighted. Now the whole city is full of it.” 

AVithout speaking a word the two mothers 
flew into each others* arms in the open street, 
midway between the houses. The comedian 
stood on one side with his hand in his breast 
pocket, the godmother on the other with folded 
hands. 

It was also an unquiet Sunday on the pro- 
perty of Use’s father. During the previous 
night a waterspout had burst on the hills, and a 
wild flood poured down where formerly the 
brook ran between the meadows. The oldest 
people did not remember such a rush of water. 
Hefore this the brook had been much swollen by 
the rains of the previous week, now it roared 
and thundered through the narrow valley 
between the rock and the sloping hills, and 
overflowed the fields where it was not defied by 
the ateejiness of the country and rocks. Furi- 
ously did the water rush and foam over the 
rocks and about the heads of the willows, carry- 
ing away in its course the hay from .the 
meadows, uprooting reeds and tearing off 
branches of trees, and also the ruins of habita- 
tions, which, though far above, had been reached 
by the flood. The people of the property stood 
by the edge of the orchard, looking silently 
upon the stream and the ruins it bore along 
Avith it. The children ran eagerly along the 
side of the water, endeavouring to draAv towards 
them with poles whatever they could reach. 
They raised loud cries when they saw a living 
animal floating along. It was a kid standing 
on one of the boards of the roof of its stall. 
When the little creature saw the people stand- 
ing near, it cried piteously, as if begging to be 
rescued. Hans put out a well hook, caught 
hold of the plank, and the kid sprang ashore 
and was taken in grand procession by the chil- 
dren to the farmyard and there fed. 

Use was standing on the new bridge by the 
grotto. It had only been built a few weeks, and 
was now threatened with destruction. Already 
the supports were bending on one side. The 
force of the water worked against the lower 
end, and loosened the pegs. The foam of the 
water whirled i*ound the projecting foot of the 
rock, which formed the vault of the grotto, and 
the power of the rising water made deep fur- 
rows in the flood. 

“ There is some one running from the moun- 
tain,” exclaimed the people. 


A girl came liastily round the rock, Avith a 
large handkerchief full of fresh-mowed mountain 
grass on her back. She stopped terrified on the 
platform of the rock, and trembled to cross over 
the bent bridge. 

‘‘It is poor Benz’s Anna ! ” exclaimed Use ; 
“ she must not remain there in the wilderness. 
Throw your burden aAvay — be brisk, Anna, and 
come quickly over.” 

The girl passed rapidly across the bridge. 

“ You must be the last,” commanded Use. 
“ None of you shall attempt to go upon it, for it 
will not bear the pressure long.” 

Her father came up. 

“ The flood Avill subside to-night if fresh rain 
docs not fall; but the injury it has done Avill 
long be remembered. BcIoav, at Rossau, it ap- 
pears still Avorse; it has overflowed the fields. 
Hummel has hastened down, as he is anxious 
about the bridges on the road on Avhich his 
daughter is coming. In our village the Avatcr 
has entered some of the houses; the people are 
preparing to moA'e to our farm-yard. Go down 
and help them,” he said, turning to some la- 
bourers, and continued, in a low tone, to his 
daughter : “ The Prince has gone to the village 
to examine the damage there. He Avishes to 
speak to you; Avould you like to see him 
now ? ” 

“ I am ready,” said Use. 

She Avent Avith her father toAvards the vil- 
lage ; there she ascended to the churchyard. 

“ I Avill remain in the neighbourhood,” said 
he. “ When the Prince leaves you, call me.” 

She stood by the side of the wall, looking at 
the gi-ave of her dear mother and at the spot 
Avhere the did Pastor reposed with his Avife. The 
branches of the trees which she had planted 
here hung over her head. She thought hoAV 
glad she Avould be to tell her old friend that she 
liad found it just the same in the great Avorld as 
in his village, the nature and passions of men 
Avere everywhere alike, and that the same might 
be expected in the little valley as in the tumult 
of the Court. 

“ Here my father is master,” she thought, 
“ and the people are accustomed to obey us his 
children, and to regard us as Ave do our mlers. 
But if the children of our people are oppressed 
by an ill-disposed master, they can seek for jus- 
tice and protection at any moment! 

“ Hoav Avill he, the proud man, bear that his 
Avife should not find justice or protection from 
the injury Avhich has been done to both her and 
him ? We ought to do good to those Avho injure 
us. If the bad Sovereign should noAv come to mo 
sick and helpless, ought I to receive him in my 
house ? and ought I to place myself by his 
couch, although such a mark of kindness might 
expose me to fresh insult ? I have worn a Avhite 
mantle; the stain Avhich he has cast upon it I 
see every hour, and no tears Avash it aAvay. He 
has taken from me my pure cloak ; shall I also 
at his bidding give him my gOAvn ? High and 
honourable precept, taught me by my departed 
friend, I tremble to obey. It is a struggle be- 
tween duties, and the thought of my Felix says 
to me, ‘ No.’ 

“I Avill haA'e done Avith the young Prince, 
hoAA'CA’er innocent lie may be. I knoAV that he 
once desiied encouragement from the simple 


248 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


woman all the warmth of his heart, anti 

my vanity has often told me that I have been a 
good friend to him in his exalted and lonely life. 
Fearfully have I atoned for this vain pride. He 
also from henceforth must he a stranger to me. 
What can he still wish from me ? I imagine 
that he thinks exactly as I do, and only wislies 
to take leave of me for ever. Well, 1 am pre- 
pared for it.” 

The Hereditary Prince came along the foot- 
path from the village. Use remained standing 
by the wall of the churchyard, and bowed calmly 
to his greeting. 

“ I have made known at the capital my wish 
to make a tour with my cousin,” began the 
I’riuce ; “ I hope my request will be granted. 
Therefore I wish to say farewell to you.” 

“ What you now say,^’ answered Use, “ shows 
that I have rightly judged your Highness.” 

“ I had little opportunity of speaking to you 
in the city,” said the Prince, shyly ; “ it would 
grieve me if you should deem me capable of 
ingratitude or of cold-heartedness.” 

“ I know the reasons that kept your High- 
ness away,” replied Use, looking down ; and I 
am thankful for your good opinion.” 

“ To-day I wish to tell you, and at the same 
time your husband,” continued the Prince, “ that 
I will endeavour to make what I have learnt 
with you useful for my future life. I know tliat 
this is the only manner in which I can thank 
you. If you should ever hear that my people 
are contented with me, then you may feel, gra- 
cious lady, secretly, that I have to thank, above 
all, you and yours for the strength of my feeling 
of duty, for an im])artial judgment of the worth 
of men, and for a higher standard of the duties 
of one who has to take care for the welfare of 
many. I will endeavour to show myself not 
quite unworthy of the sympathy you have ac- 
corded me. If you learn from others that it has 
benefited me, think kindly of me.” 

Use looked at his excited countenance ; there 
was the gentle, honest expression which she had 
so often watched with anxious sympathy; she 
saw how deeply he felt that something had inter- 
posed between him and her, and how thought- 
fully he endeavoured to spare her. Hut she did 
not perceive the whole strength of the grief of 
the young man, the poetry of whose youth had 
been destroyed by his father. She did not guess 
that the punishment which could not reach the 
father had fallen upon the innocent soul of the 
son. The injury that had been inflicted on her 
by the father had clouded the happiest feeling 
of his young life — his warm friendship for the 
woman to whom he clung with enthusiastic ad- 
miration. But the kind-hearted Use understood 
the full worth of him who now stood before her, 
and her cautious reserve disappeared ; with her 
old frankness, she said to him ; “ One must not 
be unjust to the innocent, nor be untrue to those 
whose confidence one has had, as I have yours. 
What I now wish for your Highness is a friend. 
I have seen that this is what your life needs, 
and I have observed how difficult it is to avoid 
forming a low estimate of men when one is 
always surrounded by sciwants.” 

These kind words of Use broke down the com- 
posure which the Prince had been struggling to 
maintain. “ A friend for me ?” he asked, bit- 


terly ; “ I am not permitted to seek for or enjoy 
friendship; poison has been poured over the love 
that I felt. Forgive me,” he suddenly said ; 

“ I am so accustomed to complain to, and seek 
comfort from you, that I cannot help speaking 
of myself, although I know that I have lost the 
right to do so.” 

“Poor Prince,” exclaimed Use, “how can you 
look after the welfare of others, if your own life 
is void of light ? The happiness which I desire 
for your Highness’s future life is domestic love, 
a wife that understands you, and becomes the 
friend of your soul.” 

The Prince turned aside to conceal the pain 
that this speech occasioned him. Use looked at 
him sorrowfully ; she was once more his good 
counsellor as before. 

A beggar woman crept round the wall of the 
churchyard. 

“ May I beg of you to-day ?” began a hoarse 
voice, at Use’s back. “ If it is not the father, it 
is the son.” 

Use turned round; again she saw the holloAV 
eyes of the gipsy, and cried out, dismayed, 

“ Away from hence.” 

“ Tlie lady can no longer send me away,” said 
the gipsy, cowering down, “ for I am weary, and 
my strength is at an end.” 

One could see that she spoke the truth. 

“The horsemen have chased me from one 
boundary to another. . If others have no com- 
passion on me, the lady from the rock should 
not be so hard-hearted, for there is old fellowship 
betwixt the beggar and her. I once also had 
intercourse with exalted people, I have aban- 
doned them, and yet my dreams ever hover over 
the golden palaces. Whoever has drunk of the 
magic cup will not lose the remembrance of it. 
It has driven me again into this country, and 
again I have led my people here — and they now 
lie , in prison — on account of the old thoughts 
which pursue me.” 

“ Wlio is this woman ?” asked the Prince. 

The beggar raised her hands on high. 

“ In these arms I have held the Hereditary 
Prince when he was a child and knew nothing; 

I have sat with him on velvet in his mother’s 
room, now I lie in the churchyard on the high 
road, and the hands remain empty that I stretch 
out to him.” 

“ It is the gipsy woman,” said the Prince, in 
a low tone, and turned away. 

The beggar woman looked at him scornfully, 
and said to Use : 

“ They trifle with us, and ruin us, but hate 
the remembrance of old times and of their guilt. 
Be warned, young woman, I know the secrets of 
this high family, and I can tell you what they 
have tried to do to you, and what they have 
done to others who bloomed before you on 
yonder height, and whom they placed, as they 
did you, in the prison, over the portal of which 
the black angel hovers.’ 

Use stood bending over the beggar woman, 
the Prince approached her. 

“ Do not listen to the woman,” he exclaimed. 

“ Speak on,” said Use, with a faint voice. 

“ She was young and finely formed like you, 
and like you she was imprisoned, and when the 
mother of this man removed me from heV service 
because I pleased the Prince, I was appointed to 


249 


ON THE ROAD 

wait upon tlie stranger. One morning I was 
made to ask for leave ot‘ at sence from the impri- 
soned lady, because she w£s to be alone.” 

“ I entreat of you not to listen to her,” im- 
plored the Prince. 

“ I listen,” said Use, again bending down over 
the old woman, “ speak low.” 

“ When I came hack the next morning I 
found a maniac in the house instead of the fair- 
haired maiden, and I flew with terror from the 
place. Do you wish to know through what door 
madness made its way to the lady ?” she con- 
tinued, in a low murmur. Use put her ear to her 
mouth, but sprang suddenly back and uttered a 
pierciiig cry, hiding her face with her hands. 
The Prince leant against the wall and wrung his 
hands. 

A loud call sounded from the carriage road, 
and a man hastily approached; he held out a 
letter whilst still at a distance. 

“ Gabriel ! ” cried out Use, hastening towards 
him. She tore the letter from him, read it, and 
supported herself convulsively against one of the 
stones of the churchyard. The Prince sprang 
forward, but she held out the letter as if to stop 
him, and exclaimed : 

“ His Serene Highness is coming here.” 

The Prince looked terrified at Gabriel. 

“ He is scarce a mile from hence,” announced 
the exhausted servant. “ I overtook the royal 
carriage, and succeeded in getting before it. 
The horses are struggling along the unfinished 
road, but the bridge between this and Rossau is 
scarcely yet fit for horsemen or carriages ; I was 
obliged to leave my horse behind; I do not 
believe they will be able to cross it, except on 
foot.” 

The Prince hastened w’ithout saying a word 
down the road to Rossau. Use fiew with her 
letter in her hand up the rock to her father, who 
came with Herr von Weidegg to meet her. 

“ Go and pay your respects to your Prince,” 
she called out wildly, to the Chamberlain. “ My 
Felix comes ! ” she cried to her father, and sank 
upon his breast. 

People were collected near the temporary 
bridge between Rossau and Bielstein. Gabriel 
also hastened back to the water ; he had met 
Herr Hummel there, who was passing up and 
down along the bank looking across the stream. 

“The world is miserably small,” exclaimed 
Herr Hummel, to his confidant, “one is always 
meeting again. One who has been galloping, 
like you , should take care of himself ; you are 
exhausted, and look much altered. Seat yourself 
on this log and treat yourself with respect.” 

He pushed Gabriel down, buttoned his coat, 
and patted him on the cheek with his lai'ge hand. 

“ You must be in great need of refreshment, 
but the best we have here is a water perch, and 
I do not like to treat you like a horiad New 
Zealander, who in the booths at a fiiir consumes 
a groschen- worth of raw whitings. Take the 
last restorativ'e of a Parisian traveller.” 

He compelled him to take a piece of choco- 
late. 

A few steps forward on the bridge stood the 
Prince with folded arms, looking at the water, 
which on the side of Rossau had spread itself 
over the meadows and low fields of the town. 
Rapidly did the expanse of water increase ; on 


TO THE ROCK. 

the nearest part of the new road, which had not 
yet been paved, puddles of water gleamed 
between the heai)s of sand and the wheel- 
barrows of the workmen, the road projected like 
a dark strip out of the muddy flood. A few in- 
dividuals were coming from Rossau ; they waded 
through the thick mud of the road and sup- 
ported themselves timidly by the smooth poles 
which supplied the place of the bridge rails. 
For the water rushed violently against the 
beams instead of flowing deep under the 
arches, and the spectators on the Bielstein side 
called aloud to them to make haste. The 
Chamberlain hastened down to his silent master 
and looked anxiously in his face. He was fol- 
lowed by the Proprietor. 

“ If I could do as I liked, I would break these 
tottering planks with my own hands,” he said, 
indignantly, to Herr Hummel. 

“ The carriages are coming,” screamed out the 
people. The Prince’s carriage with four horses 
drove at a rapid trot through the gate of 
Rossau. Beside the Prince sat the High 
Steward. The Prince had been during the long 
journey in a state of gloomy stupor; an oc- 
casional wild word, and a look of intense hatred, 
was all his intercourse with his comptinion. 

The courtier had in vain endeavoured to draw 
the Prince into quiet conversation. Even the 
consideration of the two servants sitting at the 
back of the open carriage could not restrain 
the Prince’s mood. Exhausted by the secret 
strain of this journey the old gentleman sat, the 
keeper by the lunatic, but his shai p eye watched 
every movement of his neighbour. When 
they drove out of the town into the open 
country, the Prince began, musingly : 

“ You know the horseman that overtook us in 
such haste ?” 

“ He was a stranger to me,” said the High 
Steward. 

“ He conveyed information of our arrival ; 
they are prepared to receive us.” 

“ Th(-*n he has done your Highness a service, 
for they would hardly have an expectation at 
the hunting lodge of your Highness’s important 
resolution.” 

“ We are not yet at the end of our drama. 
Lord High Steward,” said the Prince, laughing ; 
“ and the skill of foreseeing the future is lost. 
Even, your Excellence docs not understand this 
Itl t* ^ 

“ I have always been satisfied with observing 
cautiously what surrounds me in the present, 
and I have thereby sometimes guarded myself 
from being disagreeably surprised by the future. 
If by any accident I should myself be prevented 
from carrying out my role in the drama of 
which your Highness speaks, I have taken care 
that others shall act my part.” 

The Prince threw himself back in his seat. 
The carriage went on through the mire, the 
horses floundered, and the coachman looked back 
uncertainly. 

“ Forward !” called out the Prince, in a sharp 
voice. 

“ The Hereditary Prince awaits your High- 
ness at the bridge on foot,” said the High 
Steward. 

They went on at a good pace, the coachman 
with difficulty i-estraining his horses, which were 


i550 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


fi'ightencd at the glittering expanse of water 
and the noise of the flood. 

‘‘ Forward !” the Prince again commanded. 

“Allow the coachman to stop, your Highness; 
the carriage cannot go further without danger.” 

“ Do you fear danger, old man ?” exclaimed 
the Prince, his face distorted with hatred. 
“ Here we both sit in the water — an equal fate. 
Lord High Steward. He is a bad servant who 
abandons his master,” 

“ I wish to restrain your Highness also,” re- 
plied the High Steward. 

“ Forward !” cried the Prince again. 

The coachman stopped. 

“ It is impossible, most gracious master,” he 
said ; “ we can no longer go over the bridge.” 

The Prince jumped up in the carriage, and 
raised his stick against the coachman. The 
man, frightened, whijiped his horses ; they 
reared and sprang on one side. 

“ Stop !” cried the High Steward. 

The frightened lackeys jumped willingly 
down, and held the horses. The High Steward 
opened the carriage door, and scrambled out. 

“ I beg of your Highness to alight.” 

The Prince sjirang out, and, casting a look of 
vindictive hatred at him, hastened forward on 
foot. He stepped on the bridge, and the flood 
roared around him. 

“ Keep back, father,” entreated the Hereditary 
Prince. 

The father laughed, and went on along the 
tottering planks ; he had passed over the middle 
of the bridge and the deepest part of the stream ; 
only a few steps more and his foot would touch 
the shore of Bielstein. At that moment there 
rose up near the bridge a ci'oucliing figure, and 
cried out wildly to him : 

“ Welcome to this country, young gentleman; 
look graciously on the poor beggar woman. I 
bring you greeting from the fair-haired lady of 
the rock.” 

“Away with the crazy creature,” exclaimed 
the Chamberlain. 

The Prince gazed fixedly at the wild figure ; 
he totttered, and supported himself by the rails. 
The Hereditary Prince flew towards him ; he 
drew back reluctantly, lost his footitig, and 
slipt down the side of the slippery planks into 
the flood. 

There was a loud scream from the bystanders; 
the son sprang after him. The next moment 
half-a-dozen men were in the water — among the 
first, Gabriel, cautiously followed by Herr 
Hummel. The gigantic form of the Proprietor 
towered out of the stream ; he held up the old 
Prince, while Gabriel and Hummel got hold of 
the young one. “ The Prince lives,” called out 
the Proprietor to the son, laying the unconscious 
man on the shore. The Hereditary Prince 
threw himself down by his father on the ground. 
The latter lay on the gravel road, the beggar 
woman holding his head ; he looked with glazed 
eyes before him, and did not recognise his 
kneeling son, nor the furrowed countenance of 
the stranger who bent over him. “ He lives,” 
repeated the Proprietor,. in a low tone ; “but his 
limbs cannot perform their office.” On the 
other side of the water stood the High Steward. 
He called out to the Chamberlain in French, 
then hastened back with the carriage to Kossau, 


in order to go from thence by the nearest safe 
passage. It was with difficulty that the can-iage 
was brought back. ^Meanwhile, on the Biel- 
stein side, a plank was torn olf the half-des- 
troyed bridge and the Prince laid upon it and 
carried to the castle. The children of the Pro- 
pi’ietor ran before and opened the door of the 
old house. In the hall stood Use, white as 
marble. She had been told by her brothers that 
the Prince was Saved from the water; he was 
approaching the house, to two different inmates 
of which he had been a curse ajid a tei ror. Slic 
stood in the entrance-hall no longer the Use of 
former days, but a wild Saxon woman who 
would hurl the curses of her gods on the head 
of the enemy of her race ; her eyes glowed, and 
her hands closed convulsively. The men bore 
the exhausted man up the steps. Ihen Use 
came to the threshold, and exclaimed : 

“Not in here.” 

So shrill was the cry, that the bearers halted. 

“ Not into our house,” she cried, the second 
time, raising her hand threateningly. 

The Prince heard the voice ; he smiled, and 
nodded his head graciously. 

“ It is a Christian duty. Use,” cried the Pi’O- 
prietor. 

“ 1 am the wife of the Professor,” said Use, 
moodily. “ Our roof will fall upon his head.” 

“ Keinove your daughter,” said the Here- 
ditary Prince, in a low tone. “ I demand admit- 
tance for the Sovereign of this country.” 

The Proprietor approached the steps and 
seized Use’s arm. She tore herself away from 
him. 

“You drive your daughter from yoiu* house, 
father,” she exclaimed, beside herself. “ You 
are the servant of this Prince ; I am not. There 
is no room for him and my husband at the same 
time. He comes to ruin us, and brings a curse 
with him.” 

She tore open the gate into the garden and 
fled under the trees, burst through the hedge, 
and hastened down into the valley ; there she 
sprang upon the wooden b;idge, from which she 
had shortly before driven the village people ; the 
flood roared wildly under her, and the wood- 
work bent and groaned. A rent, a crack, and 
with a poweriul spring she alighted on the rock 
on the other side ; behind her the ruins of the 
bridge whirled down to the valley. She stood 
on the rocky prominence in front of the gi’otto, 
and raised her hands with a wild look to heaven. 
Her eldest brother eame running behind her 
from the garden, and screamed also when he saw 
the ruins of the bridge. _ 

“ I am scpai’ated from you,”^ exclaimed Use. 

“ Tell my father he need not care about me ; 
the air is pure here ; 1 am under the protection 
of the Lord, uhom I serve, and my heart is 
light.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

The dark water gurgled and streamed through 
the valley ; the reflection of the sunset shone on 
the bow-windows of the old house ; the wife of 
the learned man stood alone in the cave. Where 
once the wives of the old Saxons listened to the 
rustling of the trees in the wood, and where the 


IX THE CAVE. 


251 


^'ifo of the hunted rohher hurled stones on the 
pursuers, now stood the fugitive daughter of the 
lock-castle, looking down on the wild surging 
of the water, and up to the house where the 
enemy of her husbaud sat reclining in the arm- 
chair of her father. Her breast still heaved 
convulsively, but she looked kindly on the brown 
rock which spread its protecting vault over her. 
Helow her rushed the wild and destroying flood, 
and myriads of small animated life played care- 
lessly around her. The dragon-flies chased one 
another over the water, the bees hummed about 
the herbs of the sloping hill, and the birds sang 
their evening song in the wood. She seated 
herself on the stone bench, and struggled for 
peaceful thoughts ; she folded her hands and 
bent her head ; the storm within her dissipated 
itself in the tears which flowed from her eyes. 

“ I will not think of myself, but only of those 
I love. The little ones will inquire after me 
when they go to bed ; to-night they will not 
hear the stories of the city which I used to 
relate to them to put them to sleep. They were 
all wet after their fishing, and in the confusion 
no one \vill think of putting them on dry stock- 
ings. In thinking of other things I have for- 
gotten what was necessary for them. The 
youngest persists in wishing to become a pro- 
fessor. ^ IMy child, you do not know what it is 
you wish. How nnuh must you learn, and 
what a change will come over you ! for the work 
which life effects in us is immeasurable. When 
I sat formerly here near my father, I believed 
in my simplicity that the higher the office the 
more noble were the men, and the most exalted 
of all the best, and that all that was important 
on earth was done by great and refined spirits. 
^VlJen the two learned men came, and I first in 
this spot spoke with Felix about books, I still 
imagined that what was printed must be indu- 
bitable truth, and every one who wrote a 
thoroughly learned man. Many think thus 
childishly. Hut 1 have been stubborn-headed, 
and have vehemently opposed myself to others, 
even to my husband, who stood highest in my 
opinion.” 

She looked with a sad smile before her, but 
immediately afterwards bent her head, and again 
the tears poured from her eyes. 

She heard the call of her brothers from the 
garden. 

“ Holloa, Use ! are you there ? The strangers 
are still in the house ; they are putting together 
a sedan chair for the invalid ; he is to be taken 
to the ranger’s lodge. Father is busy sending 
out messengers. The bridge at Hossau also is 
covered with water ; we cannot go to the town, 
and no one can come from the town to us. We 
feel very anxious us to how you can come back 
to us.” 

“ Do not mind about me, Hans,” said Use ; 
“you must not be so engrossed with the stran- 
gers as to forget our dear guest. Greet the 
children for me ; they must not come to the 
edge of the water to bid me good night, for the 
shore is slipj)ery.” 

Use plactd herself at the entrance of the cave 
and looked all about. In the early morning she 
hud seated herself here, and when the water 
began to rise high, she had hastened over the 
wooden bridge to warn her brothers and sisters. 


Her work still lay on the bench, together with a 
book that had been given her by the Pastor 
when she was a girl. It was the life of the holy 
Elizabeth, written by one of the most zealous 
ecclesiastics of her church, 

“ When I first learnt about you,” she thought, 
“ Frau Use of the Wartburg, my distinguished 
namesake, your life touched me, and all that you 
did and that was related of you appt'ared to me 
as an example for myself. You were a pious, 
sensible, and amiab’e wmman, and united to a 
worthy Inasband. Then the longing to render 
some special service to his God, and to attain 
thereby eternal happiness, made him blind to the 
first duty of his life ; he abandoned you and the 
people of his home, and went into the Holy 
Land. There his eyes were opened ; the dream 
disappeared; he returned back weary and so- 
bered. Hut he did not find his dear wife as he 
left her. You had longed after your husband in 
your solitude, and in your sorrow meditated upon 
the great secrets of life; your own life had been 
full of longings, and for this you had become 
a pious penitent. You wore a hair shift, and 
scourged your back ; you bowed your head and 
thoughts before an intolerant priest. You did 
what was not right nor seemly; in order to 
please your God, you laid the leper in the bed of 
your dear husbaud. In your over-strained piety 
you lost your warm heart and your womanly 
modesty; you were canonised by the clergy; but 
you, poor woman, in your striving for what they 
called the grace of God, had sacrificed human 
feelings and habits. It is not good. Use, when 
man and wife separate without necessity.” 

A voice sounded again from the other side of 
the water. 

“ Do you hear me. Use ?’* cried her father, 
from the other bank. 

“ I hear you,” answered Use, raising herself. 

“ The strangers are going away,” said the 
father ; “ the invalid is so weak that he cannot 
injure others; but you are in truth separated 
from us. It is becoming dark, and there is no 
prospect of being able to repair the bridge over 
the water before night. Go along the valley on 
your side over the hill to Rossau, and there 
remain with some one of our acquaintance until 
morning. It is a long way round, but you may 
reach it before night.” 

“ I will remain here, my father,” cried out 
Use ; “ the evening is mild, aud there are only a 
few hours until morning.” 

“I cannot bear. Use, that my wild child 
should rest under the rocks in sight of her 
home.^^ 

“ Do not mind about me. I have the moon 
and the stars over me; you know that I do not 
fear the dwarfs of the cave, nor on my mountain 
the power of man.” 

The twilight of evening fell on the deep 
valley, and the mist rose from the water; it 
floated slowly from tree to tree, it undulated 
and rolled its dusky long veil between Use and 
her father’s house. The stems of the trees and 
the roof of the house disappeared, and the grotto 
seemed to hover in clouds of air separated from 
the earth amidst indistinct shadows, which hung 
round the entrance of the rock and fluttered at 
Use’s feet, then collected together and dissolved. 

Use sat on the bench at the entrance, hei 


252 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


hands folded ovtv her knees, in her bright dress, 
herself like a fabulous woman of the ancient 
times, a ruler of the floating shadows. She 
gazed along her side of the shore on the moun- 
tain path that led from Rossau. 

The distant steps of a wanderer sounded 
through the damp fog. Use laid hold cf the 
moist stone. Something moved on the ground 
near her, and slipt forward indistinctly — per- 
haps it was a night su^allovv or oud. 

“ It is he,’’ said Use, softly. She rose slowly, 
but she trembled and supported herself against 
the rock. 

The figure of a man stepped out of the white 
mist; he stopped astonished when he saw a 
woman standing there. 

“ Use ! ” called out a clear voice. 

“ I wait you here,” she said, in a low tone. 

Stop there, Felix, You do not find your wife 
as you left her. Another has desired what be- 
longs to you; a poisonous breath has passed 
over me ; words have been said to me which no 
honest woman ought to hear, and I have been 
looked upon as a bought slave.” 

“ You have withdrawn yourself from the 
enemy.” 

“ I have done so, and therefore am here ; but 
I am no longer in the eyes of others what I 
once was. You had a wife free from all taint ; 
she who now stands before you is in ill repute, 
both on account of father and son. 

“ The noise of tongues dies away like the 
surging of the water beneath your feet. It sig- 
nifies little what others think when we have 
done what is satisfactory to our own con- 
sciences.” 

“ 1 am glad that individual men are of so 
little importance in the balance of your mind. 
But I am not so proud and independent. I 
conceal my sorrow, but I feel it always. I am 
lowered in my own eyes, and, I fear, Felix, in 
yours also ; for I have brought on my own mis- 
fortune — I have been too frank with strangers, 
and given them a right over me.” 

“ You have been brought up to trust in those 
who hold high positions. Who can give up 
loyal trust without pain ? ” 

“ I have been awakened, Felix. Now answer 
me,” she continued, with agitation, “how do 
you return to me ?” 

“ As a weary, erring man, who seeks the heart 
of his wife and her forgiveness.” 

“ What has your wife to forgive, Felix ?” she 
again asked. 

“ That my eyes were blinded, and that I for- 
got my first duties in order to follow a vain 
chase.” 

“ Is that all, Felix ? Have you brought me 
back your heart, as wholly mine as it was 
before ?” 

“ Dear Use,” cried her husband, embracing 
her. 

“ I hear your tones of love,” she exclaimed, 
passionately, throwing her arms round his neck. 
She led him into the grotto, stroked the drops 
of water out of his damp hair, and kissed him. 

“ I have you, my beloved one ; I cling firmly to 
you, and no power shall ever separate me again 
from you. Sit here, you long-suffering man ; I 
hold you fast. Let me hear all the trouble you 
have gone through.” 


The learned man held his wife in'his arms, 
and related all. He felt her tremble when he 
told her his adventure. 

“ Indignant anger and terror impelled me 
plong the road to Rossau after the Prince,” he said, 
concluding his account, “and the delay for change 
of horses seemed insupportable to me. In the 
town I found a crowd of vehicles worse than on a 
market-day; before the inn a confused noise of 
wheels, and the cries of men, countrymen, and 
court lackeys, who could not go over the water. 
In the city I learnt from strangers that the 
enemy of our happiness had been overtaken by 
a fate which pursued him to the water. We 
have done with him, and are free. They called 
out to me that the bridge on the way to you 
was broken. I sprang out of the carriage in 
order to seek the footpath over the bridge and 
the road behind the garden. Then the hand of 
our landlord laid hold of me, and a coachman 
from our city came up to me and stated that he 
had brought Fritz and Laura to the town, but 
that they had gone fui’ther down the stream in 
order to find a passage. You may believe that 
I would not wait.” 

“I knew that you would seek this path,” 
cried Use. “ To-day you are come to me — to 
me alone; you belong only to me; you are 
given to me afresh, betrothed to me for the 
second time. The habitations of men around 
us have disappeared; we stand alone in the 
wild cave of the dwarfs. You, my Felix, to 
w'hom the whole world belongs, w ho understand 
all the secrets of life, w’ho know the past and 
guess at the future — ^)'Ou have nothing now for 
a shelter but this cleft of the rock, and no 
covering but. the handkerchief of poor Anna for 
your weary limbs. The rock is still warm, and 
I will strew the grass of our hills as a couch for 
you. You have nothing, my hero, in the wil- 
derness but the rocks and herbs, and your Use 
by your side.” 

Now the quietness of night reigns around ; 
the stream rushes gently about the roots of the 
brambles, and the white mist hangs like a thick 
curtain over the cave. Dusky phantoms glide 
along the valley; they hover, in long white 
dresses, past the rocky entrance down into the 
open country, where a fresh breath of air dis- 
solves them. High above, the moon spreads its 
w'hite, glimmering tent, w'oven of rays of light 
and w’atery vapours ; and the old juggler laughs 
merrily over the valley and dowm upon the rocky 
grotto. As the delusive moonlight teases mor- 
tals by its unreal halo, so do they tease them- 
selves by the pictuies of their own fancy, in love 
and hate, in good and bad humour; their life 
passes away whilst they are thinking of their 
duty, and are led astray in doing so, seeking 
truth, and yet dreaming. The spirit flies higir, 
and the heart beats warm, but the hobgoblin of 
fancy w'orks incessantly amidst the reality of 
life ; the cleverest deceives himself, and the best 
disappoints his own zeal. 

Sleep in peace, Frau Use ! You sit on the 
stone bench holding the head of your husband 
in your lap ; even in the happiness of this hour 
you still feel the suffering of what has happened 
to you and to him, and a gentle sigh sounds 
through the grotto, like the whirr of a moth 8 


TOBIAS BACHHUBER. 


253 


wing against the rock. Sleep in peace ! You 
have, during the last tew weeks, passed through 
that which will be a gain to you every day of 
your future life. You have learut from the depth 
of your own life to form a judgment aud to take 
a decisive resolution. 

Slumber peacefully, you children of light ! 
IMany of your hopes have been deceived, and 
much innocent trust has been destroyed by 
rough reality. Figures of a past time — figures 
that you have borne respectfully in your hearts — 
have laid a real hold of your life; for what a 
man thinks, and what a man dreams of, gains a 
})ower over him. What has once fallen upon 
the soul continues to work actively upon it, 
exalting and driving it on, drawing it down and 
destroying it. About you also a game of fan- 
tastic dreams has played. If it has given you 
pain at times, still it has not injured the power 
of your life, for the roots of your happiness lie 
as deep as the perishable flowers of earth are 
allowed to endure in the ground for men. 
Slumber peacefully under the roof of the wild 
rock ; the Avarm air of the grotto breathes 
round your couch, and the ancient vaulting of 
the roof spreads protectingly over your weary 
eyes ! Around you the wood rests and dreams ; 
the old inhabitants of the rock sit at the en- 
trance of the cave. I know not whether they 
are the elves in Avhom Use does not believe, or 
the old friends of the learned man, the little 
goat-footed Pans, who blow their sylvan songs 
on their reed pipes. They hold their fingers to 
the mouth, and blow so gently in their pipe that 
it sounds sometimes like the rushing of water 
or the soft sigh of a sleeping bird. 


CHAPTER XLII 

Ilse touched gently the head of her husband, 
which lay in her lap. Felix opened his eyes, 
threw his arms round his wife, aud looked for a 
moment confused at the wild scene about him. 
The mist hovered like a white curtain before 
the opening of the cave ; the first dawn of 
•morning cast a glow on some of the jagged pro- 
jections of the dark vault; the redbreast sang, 
and the blackbird piped ; the pure light of day 
was approaching. 

** Do you hear nothing ?** Avhispered Ilse. 

“ The birds singing, aud the water rushing.” 

“ But under us, within the rock, some strange 
power is at work. It stirs and groans.” 

“ It is some animal from the wood,” said the 
Pi’ofessor ; “ a fox or a rabbit.” 

The noise became louder around their seat; 
something was pushing against the stone bench ; 
it was working and sighing like a man who 
can-ies a heavy burden. 

“ See,” whispered Ilse, “ It is coming out ; it 
is slipping round our feet. There sits the 
strange thing; it has shining eyes and a glitter- 
ing cloak.” 

The Professor raised himself on his hand and 
looked at the dark spot, where a small figure sat 
with hairy face, its body covered with a stitf 
glittering dress. 

They Wh looked motionless on the figure. 


** Do you believe in the spirits of this place ?” 
asked her husband, in a low tone. 

“ 1 am alarmed, Felix ; I see distinctly the 
gold of the dress, and I see a small beard aud a 
horrible face.” 

She raised herself. 

“ Are you the dwarf king, Alberich,” asked 
the Professor, “ and does the Nibelungen trea- 
sure lie here ?” 

“ It is the red dog,” cried Ilse, “ he has a 
coat on.” 

The Professor sprang up ; the dog laid itself 
whining before his feet. The learned man bent 
down, felt a strange material round the body of 
the dog, and took off the covering; he went to 
the entrance and held it up in the dawning light. 
It was an old rotten stuff woven with gold 
thread. The dog, freed from his burthen, 
rushed Avith a groAvl out of the cave. The Pro- 
fessor gazed long on the torn tissue, let the rag 
fall, and said, seriously : 

“ Use, I am at the goal of my searching. 
These are the remains of an ecclesiastical dress. 
The dog has draAvn this out of some hole into 
Avhich he has crept ; the treasure of the monk 
lies here in the grotto. But I have done with 
my hopes. Some days ago this discoA’^ery would 
have intoxicated me, uoav so dark a remembrance 
is attached to it, that the pleasure has almost 
all vanished that I might have had in what is 
concealed in these depths.’^ 

There Avere loud voices on the opposite bank. 
Hans halloed again through the mist ; he greeted 
his sister and Felix, Avho now came out from the 
cave on the platform, Avith loud acclamation — • 
“The water has fallen.” The other brothers 
and sisters rushed after him, and came close 
to the Avater shouting and screaming. Franz 
brought a hutterhrod in a neAvspaper, and de- 
clared his intention of throAving this breakfast 
over to them, that Ihey might not be famished. 
The children contended against this decision, 
and eagerly devised a plan of throAving over 
some tAvine on a ball and attaching the buttet'- 
hrod to it. Daily life on the property again 
AA'ent on its Avonted Avay. 

“ Is Fritz come ?” asked the Professor, across 
the stream. 

“ They are still at Rossau,” called out Hans. 

“ The bridge has been repaired; Herr Hummel 
is up, and gone doAvn there.” 

The father also came, folloAA'cd by a troop of 
labourers, who brought beams and planks. The 
men Avent into the Avater and drove a support 
into the soft ground, upon Avhich they laid some 
slender stems of trees over the Avater ; the Pro- 
fessor caught the rope Avhich Avas throAvn to him. 
After some hours’ Avork a small bridge Avas 
erected. The Proprietor Avas the first Avho 
passed OA'er to his children, and the men ex- 
changed a serious greeting. 

“ If the people have an boui-’s time to spare 
in the day,” said the Professor, “ they may do 
one last Avork for me here — the hiding-place of 
the monks was in this cave.” 

In the meantime, Herr Hummel descended 
Avith rapid steps to Rossau. The carpenters 
Avere still Avorking at the bridge. He cast a 
critical look on the spot Avhere he had caught 
hold of the young Prince in the Avater, and 
groAvled out : 


251. 


THE LOST MANUSCIIIIT. 


**ne went under like a cannon-ball. These 
people have no capacity for the sea either in 
the upper or lower classes, — they have not a 
boat in the whole country. Twenty years ago 
there was one here, it is said, but it has been 
cut up to boil coffee. The best thanks that one 
can give to this liielsteiu man for the disquiet 
that we have occasioned liim, will be to send 
him a boat to keep under his bundles of straw.” 

With tliese thoughts he entered the door of 
the Dragon ; there he went up to the sleepy 
landlord, and asked : 

“ Where is the young pair that came here 
yesterday evening V’ 

“ They must be up stairs,” he said, indiffe- 
rently; “the bill is not yet paid.” 

“ You are a landlord for travelling sloths, but 
not for men,” cried Herr Hummel ; “ I have 
longed to see such a monstrous fossil living. 
Naturally your hotel is too large for you to look 
after each chance traveller. Your guests clean 
their boots themselves and write out their bills ; 
have the kindness to show me the bell that rings 
for your porter.” 

When he was going to ascend to the upper 
floor, he heard a cry of joy. 

“ Father, my father 1 ” exclaimed Laura, 
rushing down the stairs ; she threw her arms 
round his neck, and used such warm expressions 
of tenderness and sorrow that Herr Hummel 
became gracious. 

“ You rabble !” he exclaimed ; “ have I caught 
you ? Wait ! you shall pay me dearly for this 
elopement.” 

'Ihe Doctor also rushed headlong down stairs, 
and greeted Herr Hummel joyfully. 

“ Your carriag'e will bring the things after- 
wards ; we will go on before,” ordered Herr 
Hummel. “ How did your Don Juan behave ?” 
he asked, in a low tone, of his daughter. 

“ Father, he took care of me like an angel, and 
sat on a chair thq whole night before my door. 
It was terrible, my father.” 

“And how does this elopement please you? 
It is poetical ; it gives room for grand feelings, 
and one avoids thereby the almond-cake and the 
unseasoned jokes of the comic actor.” 

But Laura pressed up to her father, and 
looked imploringly at him, till Herr Hummel 
said : 

“ ISo it has been a cure ? Then I will willingly 
pay the bill of the Dragon.” 

They walked together out of the door; Hum- 
mel between the two runaways. 

“ How did she behave on the way ?” he asked 
the Doctor, confldenlially. 

“ She was charming,” he exclaimed, pressing 
the ai’iu of the father, “ but in an anxious state 
of mind ; 1 was four times sent to the coach-box 
because she felt repentance.” 

“ What, did you climb up there ?” asked 
Hummel, indignantly. 

“ it gave me pleasure to see that she felt so 
deeply the unusual nature of the journey.” 

“ It gives me pleasure that my pocdle should 
go into the water, said the flea, and was 
drowned,” said Herr Hummel, mockingly. 

“ VVhy did not you look calmly on the anxiety 
of my w orm ? It would have saved you many 
a dance if you had been firm with her the first 
day.” 


** She was not ye my wife, Herr Humme!,** 
said the Doctor. 

“ Then it was patient spitefulness,” replied 
the father, “you could bide your time.” 

When they approached the courtyard, the 
daughter hanging on the arm of her father — 
which she would not let go — he began : 

“We will not have a word to-day about your 
abominable vagaries. Before the people here I 
have hushed up your thoughtless folly, and 
thrown a mantle over it, that you may be able 
to open your eyes; you are announced and ex- 
pected us a quiet traveller. We shall remain 
here together to-day ; to-morrow 1 shall speak 
to you, as a father, a last word concerning your 
poetry.” 

At the door the wanderers received joyful 
greeting of their friends. The Professor and 
the Doctor embraced each other. 

“ Y’ou come at the right time, Fritz ; the 
adventure which we began here years ago will 
be brought to an end to-day. The treasure of 
Brother Tobias is discovered.” 

After some hours the whole party started for 
the cave; the work-people followed with iron 
crows and levers. 

The Proprietor examined the block of stone at 
the back of the cave. At the bottom on one side 
he saw a hole, the same through which the dog 
had made its way. 

“ This opening is new,” he exclaimed ; “ it 
was closed by a stone which has fallen down.” 

The large stone bench was with some exertion 
rolled away, and an opening wide enough for a 
man to creep in without difficulty became per- 
ceptible. The lights were held within, and 
showed a continuation of the cave sloping down- 
wards, which went many yards further into the 
mountain. It was a desolate space. In the 
time of the monks it had undoubtedly been dry, 
but was no longer so. Boots of ti-ees had 
driven the crevices of the rock asunder, or the 
strata had sunk from the damp having pene- 
trated. Thus an entrance had been given to 
water and animals, and there was a confused 
mass of litter from the wood and bones. The 
workmen emptied it out with their tools, and 
the spectators sat and stood near full of curi- 
osity. The Professor, in spite of his composure, 
kept as close to the spot as he could. But the 
Doctor did not long bear to look on. He took 
oil his coat and descended into the opening. 
Mouldering pieces of thick cloth were brought 
up ; probably the treasure had been conveyed 
in a large sack to its place of concealment. 
Then came altar covers and ecclesiastical robes. 

There was a joyful call, and the Doctor handed 
out a book. 1 he face of the Professor was suf- 
fused with colour as he laid hold of it. It was 
a missal on parchment. He gave it to the Pro- 
prietor, who now. looked on with great interest. 
The Doctor handed a second book ; all pressed 
near. The Professor sat on the ground and 
read. It was a badly preserved manuscript of 
the holy Augustine. 

“ I wo !” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse 
from inward emotion. 

1 he Doctor haneled a third book, again 
spiritual Latin hymns with notes. The fourth, 
a Latin Psalter. The IVofessor held out his 
hand, and it trembled. 


TOBIAS BACHHUBER. 


255 


"Cive me more,” Ic exclaimed. 

1 lie voice of the Doctor sounded hollow from 
ttie cave. 

“ There is nothing' more.” 

“ Look i^arrowly,” said the Professor, with 
faltering voi(;e. 

“ Here is the last,” cried the Doctor, handing 
out a small square board, ‘ and here another.” 

They were two book covers of solid wood, 
the outside ornumetited with carved ivory. 
The Professor perceived at once from the style 
of the figures that it was Byzantine work of the 
latest Roman period — the figure of an Emperor 
on a throne, and over him an angel with a glory. 

“ A large square work of the fifth or sixth 
century. It is the cover of the manuscript, 
Fritz ; where is the text ?” 

“ There is no text to be found,” sounded 
again the hollow voice of the Doctor. 

“ Take the lantern and throw the light every- 
where.” 

The Doctor took the second lantern in. He 
felt with his hand and pickaxe all ronnd in 
every corner of the ro(,*k. He threw the last 
blade of straw out, and the last remains of the 
sack. There was nothing of the manuscript to 
be seen — no leaf nor strip. 

The Professor looked at the cover. 

” They have torn it ont,” he said, with fr\int 
voice ; “ probably the monks took the Roman 
Emperor in ivory for a saint.” 

He held the cover to the light. On the inner 
side of one of the pieces, amidst dust and decay, 
might be read, in old monkish writing, the 
woi'ds ; “ Of the travels of a silent man.” 

Now the silent man was drawn out of his 
cave. But he was silent : his mouth remained 
mute for ever. 

“ Our dream is at an end,” said the Professor, 
composedly. “ The monks have corn out the 
text from the cover, and left it behind; the 
manuscript never went into the full sack. The 
treasure is lost to learning. One’s hand touches 
what was once the cover of the manuscript, and 
we cannot help having the bitter feeling of sor- 
rowing for what is, irreparable, as if it had 
passed away in our sight. But we return to the 
light in possession of our faculties, and must do 
our duty in making available to our generation, 
and those who come after ns, what remains.” 

‘MV’as this genius called Bachhuber?” ex- 
claimed Herr Hummel; ‘‘judging from appear- 
aiu'es, he was an ass.” 

'fhe Proprietor laid his hand on the shoulder 
of his son-in-hr.v. 

“ In opposition to the Proprietor, you learned 
men have been in the right,” he said. “ Close 
the opening again by the stone bench,” he said, 
addressing the work-people; “the cave shall 
remain as it was.” 

The party returned silently to the old house. 
The boys c.arricd the books, the girls the bun- 
dles of torn monks’ dresses, and made plans 
/or drawing out the gold thresuls for themselves. 
The Professor kept the cover of the lost manu- 
Bcript. 

As they entered the house there was a sound 
of horse’s feet on the other side. The Proprietoi* 
went to the door. The old Chief Forester 
•topped, upon his black horse. 

“ I have ridden in haste by the farm to give 


yon information. Everythii g with us is topsy- 
turvy. We have Court otHcials and ministers, 
and doctors are fetched from every quarter. My 
people have all been sent out, and I myself have 
come to Rossau to order a courier. I fear it 
goes badly with his Serene Highness; he knows 
no one. The Hereditary Prince is now awaiting 
the arrival of the Court physician ; as soon as 
he gives permission the l)arty will start for the 
residence. All these terrible things are owing 
to the unfortunate additions to my quiet dwell- 
ing. One thing more, whilst it occurs to me — 
your son-in-law is searching for old papers and 
books. There ju-e some chests at our place con- 
taining such lumber of ancient times, when the 
ranger’s lodge was still a royal shooting-box. 
Over the door, from under the plaster,' one can 
discover a foreign word, aolitudini, which means 
‘ in solitude.’ The chesls are rotten : in the 
course of the building they have been moved 
from their place. When things become quieter 
with us the Herr Professor will, perhaps, look 
over them.” 

“ Then here is the Castle Solitude, with the 
genuine chests of the official,” exclaimed the 
Professor. “ I shall never go to that house.” 

The Doctor seized his hat, and spoke in a low 
tone to Laura and the Proprietor. 

“ 1 beg leave of absence for to-day,” he said, 
going out. 

He did not return till evening. 

“ In the chest there are accounts for repairs 
in the monastic buildings and for this farm at 
the end of the seventeenth century ; there are, 
besides, some volumes of Corneille. The candi- 
date who went to America is related to the Chief 
Forester.” 

“ We have been fooled,” said the Professor, 
calmly. “ It is well that every doubt has dis- 
appeared.” 

“ But,” replied the Doctor, “ there is still 
no proof that the old manuscript is destroyed. 
It is yet possible that it may come to light 
somewhere in fragments. Who knows but there 
may be strips on the back of some books ? ” 

“ On the books which the Swede has written 
in characters of fire at Rossau,” replied the Pro- 
fessor, with a sad smile, “ It is well, Fritz, 
that the tormenting spirits are thoroughly exor- 
cised.” 

Early on the morning of the following day a 
string of royal carriages left the ranger’s lodge; 
the first was closely shut in-— it was tln^ sick 
Prince, guarded by his physician. Before 
starting, the Hereditary Prince beckoned the 
Chief Forester to his carriage : 

“ Is there any other way to Rossau thau 
through the farm of that property ?” 

“ Over the long ridge through tne wood ; 
it is a roundabout way,” replied the Chief 
Forester. 

“ We will go along the road through the 
wood,” ordered the Hereditary Brince. On the 
way he said to his attenchmt : “ 1 expect ft-om 
you, Weidegg, that you will, on every oppor- 
tunity, show respectful attention to the persons 
who dwell there. I am the son of the sick 
Prince to whom a reception was refused by a 
female voice. I will, therefore, never again 
pass the threshold of that house ; and 1 wish 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


25t) 

that you should never name that lady in my 
presence.” 

The sorrowful train passed close hy the spot 
where once the lightning had struck the pine 
tree. The carriage went at a foot’s pace along 
the ridge of the hills upon the forest road. 

“ Go forward,” said the Prince; “ I will walk 
a short distance.” 

He went to the top of the hill ; the early 
dawn tinged the dark bushes of heather with a 
golden green. From that same lieight, where 
once a gay party had rested, the Prince looked 
down on Bielstein, which stood out in the white 
morning mist, on the roof and balconies of the 
old house. He long stood motionless ; the bell 
sounded from the village church through the 
mountain air; he bent his head till the last 
echoes of the soft tone passed away ; he then 
stretched his hand greetingly towards the rock, 
turned quickly round, and went along the forest 
road. 

About the same hour the cocks crow’cd in the 
farmyard at Bielstein, the sparrows twittered 
in the vine arbour, and the people prepared for 
the day’s work. Then Herr Hummel knocked 
three times at the door of the room in which 
his daughter slept. 

“Get up, you eloped worm,” ho grumbled 
out, “ if you still wish to take leave of your 
forsaken father.” 

There was a noise in the room and a pattering 
of slippers, and Laura’s head peeped through 
the opening in the door. 

“Father, yoii will not leave us ?” 

“You have left me,” replied Hummel; “w'c 
must have a last conversation together. Dress 
yourself properly, and you shall accompany me 
down the hill. I will w’ait for you in the ball.” 

He had to wait some time for his daughter, 
and paced impatiently up and down, looking at 
his watch. 

“ Believe me, Gabriel,” he said, to the servant, 
•who came up to him in his best attire, “ much 
misfortune arises from the long hair of women. 
It is on that account they never can be ready 
at the right time ; this is their privilege by 
which they vex us, and it is on that account 
they maintain they are the weaker sex. Order 
and punctuality will never be obtained unless 
the whole woman world can have their pi'g-tails 
cut off on one day.” 

Laura glided down the stairs, clung to her 
father’s arm, and stroked his cheeks with her 
little hand. 

“ Come into the garden, theatrical princess,” 
he grumbled out ; “ I must speak to you alone 
for some minutes. You have eloped, you have 
gone through the scandal, — in what state of 
mind are you now ?” 

“ Uneasy, dear father,” said Laura, dejectedly. 
“ I know' that it W'as a folly, and Use says so 
also.” 

“ Then it is all right,” replied Hummel, dryly. 
*• What is now' to become of you ?” 

“ What you will, my father,” said Laura. 
“ Fritz and 1 are of opinion that w'e must follow' 
your wishes unconditionally. I have by my 
folly lost all right of expressing a wish; if I 
could, still venture to make a request,” she said, 
timidly, “ I should like to remain here for some 
time.” 


“ Then you wish to be released from him who 
carried you off ?” 

“ He is going back to his parents, and we will 
w'ait, my father, until he has an appointment at 
the University : he has prospects.” 

“Indeed,” said Hummel, shaking his head. 
“All that would have been very sensible before 
the elopement ; now it is too late. You have 
been already asked in church three times at once.” 

Laura started back. 

“ The people could not do otherw'ise,” con- 
tinued Hummel. “ When it was known that 
you had been carried off, the clergy could not 
avoid publishing the banns ; you had not long 
been out of the gate when this misfortune took 
place.” 

Laura stood terrified, and a burning red suf- 
fused her cheeks. The bells of the little church 
by the wood below sounded. Herr Hummel 
took a paper out of his pocket. 

“ Here are these cursed old godmother’s 
gloves ; I wish at last to get rid of this trash. 
Here you have your dowry, I can give you 
nothing more ; put them on quickly, that people 
lAiay at least observe by your hands that this is 
a festive day for you. When it comes to the 
business of the wedding-ring you can speedily 
take them off.” 

“ Father,” cried Laura, W'ringing her hands. 

“ You could not bear the idea of a w'edding- 
cake,” cried Hummel, “ and you must do with- 
out a W'edding-dress, and many other things. 
These theatrical emotions would have been very ' 
suitable before the elopement, now you must 
indisputably be married either immediately, or 
not at all. Do you think that one goes out into 
the world for a joke ?” 

“ My mother ?” exclaimed Laura, and the 
tears i-olled from her eyes. 

“ You chose to run aw'ay from your mother, 
and if your father, out of consideration for 
these strangers, had not come, you w'ould Lave 
had to do the business alon'e. You wish to 
escape from our homely burgher feelings.” 

Laura laid hold of a tree with trembling hands, 
and looked imploringly at her father. 

^ “ You are not so bold as I thought. Now the 
timid hare comes to light in you.” 

Laura threw' herself on her father’s breast 
and sobbed ; he stroked her curls. 

“ Little Hummel,” he said, kindly, “ there 
must be punishment, and it is not a severe 
punishment ; it pleases me that you should 
marry him. He is a worthy man; I have ob- 
served that; and if it is for your happiness, I 
shall easily get on with him, but you must not 
immediately begin to hum and buzz if I some- 
times bristle up in my way. It pleases me also 
that you should marry him to-day, that is now' 
the best course for all parties. You can have 
your bridal feelings later, and go through your 
emotions as you like. Now, be brave, my child, 
we must jiot keep the others waiting. Are vou 
ready?” ' 

lamra w'ept, but a soft “ Yes ” w'as heard. 

“ Then we will aw'ake the bridegroom,” said 
Hummel. “ I believe this sacrificial lamb sleeps 
without any foreboding of his fate.” 

He left his daughter, hastened to the Doctor’s 
door, and looked into the room. Fritz lay fast 
asleep. Hummel seized the boots winch W'ere 


TOBIAS BACHHUBER. 


257 


standinj^ before the door and bumped them down 
beside the bed. 

“Good morning, Don Juan,” he growled; 
“ have the kindness to take the trouble imme- 
diately to put on this leather. These are your 
bridal boots. My daughter Laura begs you to 
make haste, and the clergyman is impatient.” 

The Doctor sprang out of his bed. 

“ Are you serious ?” he asked. 

“ Terribly serious,” said Hummel. 

He had not long to wait for the Doctor. He 
eutei’ed the garden where Laura was still sitting 
alone in the bower, uneasy, like an imprisoned 
bird that does not venture to leave its cage. 
Hummel led the Doctor up to her. 

“ There, you have her,” he said, solemnly. 
“ It is a fine morning, just like that when I set 
out as a wandering lad. To-day I send my child 
into the world, and that is another kind of feel- 
ing. I do not object to it if you live happily 
together, till first your children run away from you 
into the world, and then the grandchildren : for 
man is like a bird, he takes pains and collects 
the blades of straw together for his home, but 
the young brood do not care for the nest of the 
parents. Thus the old raven must now sit alone 
and find few who will be vexed with his croak- 
ing. Take my blockhead, dear Fritz, and do 
not let her have too much of her own will. 1 
have watched her for some time, and I will tell you 
something in confidence : ever since the history 
of the cat’s paws it occurred to me, that in the 
end you would be no bad husband for this 
Hummel. That you are called Hahn is, after 
all, only a misfortune.” He kissed them both 
right heai’tily. “ Now come, you runaways, for 
the others are expecting you.” 

Hummel walked before his children to the 
house ; he opened the door of the sitting-room 
where the whole family were assembled. Laura 
flew to Use, and concealed her hot face on the 
breast of her friend. The latter took the bridal 
wreath, which her sisters had brought, and 
placed it on Laura’s head. Gabriel opened the 
door. Years before the Doctor had drawn his 
friend from the bramble bush against the wall 
into the church ; now he walked into the little 
village church hand in hand with his love, and 
again the children strewed flowers. Wlien the 
clergyman joined the hands of the bridal pair. 
Use also clasped the hand of her husband. 

“ Your mother is wanting,” said Hummel, to 
the bride, when she embraced him after the 
wedding ; “ and the Doctor’s family also. But 
you are a citizen’s child, and however exalted 
your feelings may be you must accommodate 
yourself to our customs. You will go from here 
back to your native town. There your mother 
will keep the after-nuptials, and you, runaway, 
shall not escape the bad poetry. You must ex- 
cuse me if I am not at home on that day; I have 
to make a business journey, and it is not suitable 
to marry one’s child twice in a week.” He then 
said, in a low tone, to his daughter ; “ between 
ourselves, I do not wish to peck a bit of the 
same wedding-cake with the Hahn family. You 
are not to live with me, nor in the house over 
the way : — that has been advised by our friends, 
and I think it quite right. After the marriage 
feast you may travel for some weeks, and then 
return to your own home.” 

17 


“ Tlie bridal journey you will go alone,” said 
the Professor ; “ not with us. Use and I have 
determined, after a short rest, to return to the 
city. I have some mouths of this summer before 
me which I will endeavour to make of use to a 
select circle of students. Among books we shall 
find again what we lost in foreign parts, — peace 
within ourselves, and peace with those about us.’" 

It was about Easter of the following year. 
Herr Hummel and Gabriel stood dressed in fes- 
tive black before the door of No. 1 in the Park 
Street. 

“ I was with her,” began Herr Hummel, confi- 
dentially, to Gabriel. “ 1 have this time taken her 
the money myself, because you wished it. I in- 
quired concerning her of the people of the Inn 
and neighbours. She behaves herself with regu- 
larity, and her character is changed. Much 
water, Gabriel,” he pointed to his eyes. 

“ You were kind to her ?” asked Gabriel, 
gloomly. 

“ Like a lamb,” replied Hummel, “ and she 
the same. The room was poor, one picture only 
hung there without a frame, Gabriel, as a remem- 
brance of her happy position in that house. It 
was a cock with golden feathers.” 

Gabriel turned away. 

“ At last the abode became too moist for my 
dry constitution, but care has been taken of her. 
She is to be placed in a respeetable business as a 
saleswoman, and as for the illegitimate Knips, 
the women will take care of him. I have spoken 
with Madame Hummel, and she with the Hahn 
woman over the way ; they will both cook their 
charitable cabbage for him. But as concerns 
you, Gabriel, with all respect, — but what is too 
much is too much.” 

Herr Hummel seized respectfully Gabriel’s 
waistcoat button, and twisted the tm*ned-away 
face with the button as by a screw round to 
himself. Then he looked for a time into the sor- 
rowful eyes without saying a word, but they both 
understood each other. 

“It was a hard time, it w'as a mad time, 
Gabriel, in every point of view,” began Herr 
Hummel, at last, shaking his head; “what 
we went through with the Sovereigns was no 
trifle.” 

“ He was of little weight,” said Gabriel, 

“ and was carried like a feather.” 

“That is nothing to the purpose,” said Hum- 
mel ; “ the affair was profitable. Think what it 
is to have saved a young Sovereign, that few of 
us can do. For a moment, ambitious thoughts 
came into my head — that is to say, the Cham- 
berlain, no ill-disposed man and an old acquain- 
tance of ours, stirred me up when he lately 
called upon me.” 

“ He also called forme,” interrupted Gabriel, 
with dignity. “ Prince Victor had com- 
missioned him to give me his greetings, and to 
say that the Prince was to marry the IMncess.” 

“ Even this kind of householder becomes 
domestic,” said Herr Hummel, “ that is at 
least a beginning. The Chamberlain assured 
me of his Serene Highness’s gratitude, made 
eloquent speeches, and probed me at last with a 
‘ predicate.’ Do you know what that is ?” 

“ Hum,” said Gabriel, “ if it is something 
that is given at this Court it would be simihu- 


258 


THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. 


to a coloured tobacco ptmch in which there is no 
tobacco ; it must be a title.” 

“You have hit it,” said Herr Hummel. 
“ What do you think of Herr Court Hat Maker 
and Householder, Henry Hummel ?” 

“ A mere delusion,,” replied Gabriel. 

“ Right, it was a weakness ; but I overcame 
it at the right time. Then I asked this Cham- 
berlain, what would you expect of me ? ‘ No- 

thing at all," he said, ‘except that you should 
carry on a distinguished business !" ‘ That is 

my position," I said. ‘ But what hats will they 
have of me ?" For he who has had experience 
like me becomes suspicious j and see, Gabriel, 
then the delusion came out, for what was his 
idea and expectation ? 1 was in his eyes a man 

who dealt in straw hats. Then I thanked him 
for the honour, and turned my back."" 

“Now,"" said Gabriel, “with respect to this 
matter there should be some mitigation ; and 
if you have given your daughter to the family, 
why not also an article of business ?” 

“ Do not mix yourself up in these things,"" 
said Herr Hummel, irritably. “ It is bad 
enough that I, as father, and in a certain degree 
as neighbour, have been obliged to give up my 
old anger. How can one irritate oneself now, 
when one is obliged to have one"s hand pressed 
here, and to drink family punch under the cursed 
Muse there ? No, I was a weak father, and as 
a neighbour, an inexcusably fickle man. But, 
Gabriel, even the worm which is trod upon keeps 
its sting. And my sting is the business. There 
the enmity still remains. Every spring, vin- 
dictiveness ; and every winter, my triumph. I 
have lost my child and made over my money to 
that coxcomb, but I am still man enough to 
make head against him."" 

He looked on the empty place on the door steps, 
whei'e formerly his dog Speihahn used to sit. 

“ I have lost him,"" continued Herr Hummel, 
pointing significantly at the ground. 

“ He is underneath there, and wiped out from 
human nature,"" said Gabriel. 

“ He was a dog after my owm heart,” con- 
tinued Hummel, slowly ; “ and I have an idea. 
What do you think, Gabriel, if I were to place a 
monument to him in the garden. Here in the 
street there would only be a low stone and upon 
it only one v'ord — ‘ Speihahn." When the doors 
stand open one could read it across the street. 
It would be a memorial of the poor beast, and 
especially of the good time when one could pluck 
the feathers of a Hahn without being screamed 
at for infanticide."" 

“ That will not do,*" replied Gabriel. “ ^Vhat 
would the son-in-law"s people over the way say 
to it ?"" 

“ The devil ! "" exclaimed Herr Hummel, and 
turned away. 

Yes, Speihahn had escaped from mankind. 
Since that hour, when in the dim grey of the 
morning he had wound round him the golden 
dress of the deceased Bachhuber like a ruff, he 
had disappeared. No inquiries and no offers of 
reward had enabled Herr Hummel to obtain a 
trace of him. In vain were the shepherds and 
labourers of the neighbourhood, and even the 
magistrates of Rossau, set in movement — he 
had stolen away like a spirit. The place on the 
outside steps remained empty ; the blank which 


he had left behind in the citizen’s society was 
filled by a younger race of dogs in the Park 
Street; the neighbourhood felt in every walk 
along the street a satisfaction which they had 
long been deprived of; the cigar dealer again 
placed his bench near Herr Hummers garden; 
and the Frauleins in white dresses, who went to 
the Park, gradually gave up the custom ot 
turning away from Herr Hummel’s house, and 
going over to the straw side. The memory ot 
Speihahn passed away without pity from any ; 
only with the old inmates of the street the re- 
membrance of him remained as a dark tradition. 
Gabriel alone thought of the lost one every 
evening when he placed little bones for indif- 
ferent neighbours" dogs. But he did not wonder 
at the disappearance of the dog : he had long 
known that something mysterious must happen 
to this creature. 

There was a confirmation of this view of 
which Gabriel always thought through the rest of 
his life ; for when, in the autumn, he went with 
his master and mistress again to visit Bielstein,’ 
he at once begged permission to have an after- 
noon’s holiday, and, as he often did now, was 
walking alone with his thoughts. He went in 
the wood, far past the ranger’s lodge, amongst 
large mossy beech stems, ferns, and bilberries. 
It was evening, and a grey twilight overtook the 
wanderer; he was uncertain of his direction, 
and, somewhat disquieted, sought the road to 
the house. Thunder rolled in the distance, and 
sometimes a bright flash of lightning passed 
over the heavens, and for a moment lighted up 
the stems of the trees and the mossy ground. 
In such a bright flash he saw himself suddenly 
on a cross road ; he started back, for a few steps 
from him a large dark figure was moving across 
the path, with a broad-brimmed felt hat on his 
head and a weapon on his shoulder; it glided 
past noiselessly and without greeting. Gabriel 
stood astonished ; again a flash, and along the 
some road ran two dogs, a black and a red cur, 
with large heads and bristly hair : suddenly the 
red one stopped and turned towards Gabriel, 
who saw at the back of the dog a tuft which it 
wagged. The next moinent there was a pro- 
found darkness, and Gabriel hoard at his feet a 
slight whimpering, and it appeared to him as if 
something licked his boot. Another slight noise, 
and then all was still. 

The people on the property maintain that it 
was a poacher, or the great deer-stealer from the 
other side of the frontier; but Gabriel knew 
who the night hunter was, and uhat the dog 
was. He w'ho had before sent the dog to Hum- 
mel’s house, without money and without name, 
had also called him away. The hound now 
barked again in the night, when the storm blew 
like a hunting horn, when the clouds flew under 
the moon, and the trees bent their heads, groan- 
ing, to the earth. Then he ran over the hills 
from Rossau, through the grounds of Bielstein ; 
he howled, and the moon laughed mockingly 
down on the place in which Tobias Bachhuber 
had deposited his treasures, and among them 
the cover of the lost manuscript. 

But if no observer could be doubtful what 
would be the end of this dog, far more uncertain 
is the judgment of the present day concerning 
another figure which hovers about the grotto. 


TOBIAS BACHHUBER. 


259 


Wliat can your fate “be, unhappy Brother 
Tobias Bachhubcr ? Your conduct with respect 
to the manuscript was such that it exceeds 
everything one could have expected of a Tobias. 
It is much to be feared that your inconsiderate- 
uess towards the highest interests of mankind 
may have injured your social position in the 
other world. Grievous doubts arise, Bachhuber, 
with respect to your blessedness : for the wrong 
that you have done to us was so great that it 
woxild draw tears from an angel. To us mortals 
it is impossible to think of you with the confi- 
dence which your true-hearted words would 
impress upon us: hcec omnia deposui, — I have 
deposited all this. That was an untruth, Bach- 
huber, and the wounds of deceived confidence 
will always bleed afresh. 

Answer the question, Tobias, — what were your 
views on the connection of the human race? 
On the union of past and living spirits, or on the 
great net of humanity of which you were a 
mesh ? Your views were pitiful ; you crammed 
the great manuscript, the desire of our days, 
into a sack, and when the sack was too full, you 
tore out the text and kept the cover for later 
generations ! Fie, fie, fie ! 

Nevertheless, you hover restless round the cave 
and bluster since the time of the Swedes about 
the rooms of the old house ; why this officious- 
ness, silly monk ? Perhaps you care for and 
guai’d something which will redound to the wel- 
fare of later generations, and serve the afore- 
mentioned connection of the human race ? In 
fact, a treasure was found ; it was indeed quite 
difierent to what the searcher expected when his 
eyes first rested on the uncertain characters 
of your record. The treasure which both the 
learned men have found has little hands, round 
cheeks, and sweet eyes; it has come to life; but 
it is by no means silent. Bachhuber, have you 
acted frivolously with respect to the rules of 
your order ? Have you deposited this treasure 
in two dwellings, in the hollow and dry places 
which in our language are called cradles ? 

To-day there is a great christening in the 
dwelling of the Professor, for it is a double 
christening. The Professor’s son is called Felix, 
and the Doctor’s young daughter Cornelia. The 
children have resolved almost at the same time 
to narrow the space of the over-filled world by 
their appearance. The sponsors of the boy are 
Raschke and Frau Struvelius; the sponsors of 
the girl are Struvelius and Frau Raschke ; but 
Herr Hummel is double godfather, and stands 
in the middle and turns about first to one, then 
to the other godchild. 

“ I am glad that yours is a son,” he said, to 
the Professor; ‘‘he will be fair and jolly. For 
the female race get the upper hand, and will be- 
come too powerful for us ; we must strengthen 
ourselves by an increase, otherwise a complete 
revolution will take place. I am glad that yours 
is a girl,” he said, to his daughter ; “ the crea- 
ture is dark and bristly ; it will be no Hahn, but 
a Hummel.” 

The christening is over, and Professor Raschke 
raises his glass. 

“ There are two new human souls in the realm 
of books, two more learned children in our doc- 


trinaire, wonderful, pedantic, whimsical corpo- 
ration. You children will make your first 
riding exercises on folios ; your helmet and your 
first apron will be made of your father’s proof- 
sheets ; you will look sooner than others with 
secret terror on the books which surround your 
rosy youth. But we wish that you also may 
help to preserve to a later generation the proud 
feeling with which your fathers have devoted 
their whole lives as seekers, thinkers, and 
moulders. You also, whether man or woman, 
shall be faithful guardians of the intellectual 
possessions of our people. You will find a 
nation which will take a stronger flight and 
make higher demands on its intellectual leaders. 
As the present is by us, so will your time 
be sometimes contemplated by you with a 
smile ; take care that it is a kindly smile. 
Take care also that this high office may continue 
to be valued by the people, that you may surpass 
your fathers, and that you remain steadfast as 
honourable workers in the realm of learning, 
true to your faith in the good spirit of our 
life.” 

Raschke spoke and waved the glass. 

“ 1 beg your pardon, — that is my glass,” ex- 
claimed Struvelius ; “ do not diduk my gloves, 
for they lie in it.” 

“ Right,” said Raschke, excusing himself, “ it 
is leather.” 

He poured cautiously the wine out of his flask 
over the gloves, and cried out, “ Hurrah !” But 
in the dusky corner by the bookshelf, where lay 
the little record of the Brother, the humble 
figure of Bachhuber made its appearance unper- 
ceived by any one, like a child’s nurse ; it greeted 
all, and bowed its thanks. 

When the friends separated. Use sat on the 
sofa, the child on her lap ; Felix knelt by her 
side, and both looked down on the young life 
that lay between them. 

“ It is so small, Felix,” said Use ; “ and yet 
all that was and all that is, does not make the 
mother so happy as the soft beating of the heart 
in its breast.” 

“ The thinking mind struggles restlessly after 
the eternal,” exclaimed the learned man ; “ but 
he who holds wife and child to his heart feels 
himself united in blessed peace with the high 
power of our life.” 

The cradle rocked as if touched by a spirit’s 
hand. Behold the treasure, deceased Bachhuber, 
that you have by your helpful activity provided 
for a later generation. It is true that you have 
done us an injury ; nevertheless, when on the 
other hand one considers how carefully you have 
in the old house, and elsewhere, exerted your 
good offices as the founder of a later race, one 
cannot be angry with you on this christening 
dav. One thing reckoned with another, one 
may well say you were an unfortunate mush- 
room, but your heart was not bad. Finally, 
Tobias Bachhuber, you have, after much con- 
sideration, been mercifully received among the 
blessed, but undoubtedly with a sign of Interro- 
gation : for you bear on the back of ^ your 
heavenly cowl, as a mark, to all eternity,^ a 
devilish tail, — on account of the lost manuscriot 
of Tacitus. 


THE EHD. 


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